With Grace In Your Heart
by Hel-Lokisdotter
Summary: Since they first met, Severus Snape's life has revolved around one person; Lily Evans. In their seventh year, she decides to change all that... by setting him up with someone else. But as he is brought face-to-face with the conflicts and struggles of his past, present, and future, the repercussions may be greater than anyone guessed. First War AU, Severus/OFC.
1. Plots & Polaroids

**A/N:** So, a few things. First, you know how I said OFC? It should be noted that while the character is original, she isn't original to me. This fic is based on a roleplay, where I play Severus and my friend Tina plays Laura (the OFC). So if the character's messed up, blame my bad writing, but if you think she's awesome, all credit to Tina. :)  
>Secondly, I wasn't alive in 1977, so I apologise for any anachronisms.<br>Thirdly, as always... reviews are amazing, concrit is my favourite thing ever, and basically, any comment, good or bad, which might help me improve... I love 'em all!

**ETA:** This is _not_ a Lily-hate fic. I keep getting reviews and comments talking about how horrible Lily is, and apparently expecting me to agree. That's your opinion, and you can have whatever opinion you want, but be aware that I don't agree with it. I _like_ Lily, and while she (like everyone else) will do some slightly iffy things throughout the fic (because she's a teenager and because she is a fallible human being), this is not a fic about how she was horrible to Severus or how she never cared about him or anything else. You can send comments to this fic about how horrible Lily is, but they will almost inevitably be met with a point-by-point refutation, because I am actually a Lily-fan and not particularly comfortable with character-bashing in any case.  
>tl;dr - please don't leave character-bashing reviews and expect a positive response. Thank you.<p>

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing, and the title is from the Mumford & Sons song "After The Storm". Not mine, and I'm not making any money from this.

* * *

><p><strong>1 - Plots &amp; Polaroids<strong>

"James..."

"Lily, look, I know what you're going to say, but..."

She raised an eyebrow.

"It was Sirius' idea! And I just thought..."

The other eyebrow rose to join the first. "Thought what, James? Thought it was appropriate for you – the _Head Boy_ – to go sneaking around in another student's room? In their private belongings? Look, I don't even care what you do in your own time, James, I'm _past_ caring about that. Just don't get _me_ involved!"

He shuffled his foot, hands in his pockets, and Lily had a momentary stab of amusement that she could reduce James Potter to this without even trying. She had to bite back a smile, which faded away again when she remembered why they were arguing.

"Look, James," she said, relenting slightly. "Just promise me you'll put them back later, okay? I'll see you in the Great Hall. Just give me a moment." Leaning forwards, she pressed a light kiss to his lips, then nodded to the door.

"It is creepy, though," he said, over his shoulder, as he left. "You have to admit, Lils. It is creepy."

As the door closed behind him, she sank down on the bed with a sigh, chin in her hands. She really thought she'd trained him out of things like this. Thought he'd grown up a bit. And just when she thought she might have a boyfriend who was _sensible_ and _calm_ and _respectful_ (well, more so, at least), he did something like _this_.

She reached out one hand, pulling the sheaf of photographs towards her. Then again, she thought ruefully, he might have a point. This _was_ a bit creepy. She'd expected Sev to keep a few photos from when, well... from when she'd still thought of him as Sev, but her whole _life_ was here, Lily after Lily after Lily, smiling gappily from her back garden when she was nine, on the Hogwarts Express in third year, with her back to the photographer in a shot that couldn't have been taken more than a month ago...

"Oh, Sev," she murmured, barely realising that she'd spoken, or that her eyes were starting to sting. She might not have forgiven him – the memory of that day by the lake was all too clear for that – but part of her still remembered him as the boy she'd met in the playground, the grimy, serious boy who was somehow sweet, in his damaged, disdainful way. Her friend.

Her friend, who wasn't her friend any more, she reminded herself sharply. Her friend, who'd apparently been stalking her.

"Oh, Sev," she said again, and found herself on the brink of laughter, bitter and hysterical. "You really need to get laid."

It was such an un-Lily thing to say, so strange to hear in her voice, that she couldn't hold back the laughter any more. She laughed even though there were tears in her eyes, even though looking at the Polaroids of her and Sev in her parents' garden, ten years old and without a care in the world, made her throat close up and her chest tighten. She laughed even though it wasn't funny. She laughed _because_ it wasn't.

And then, very suddenly, she stopped. Because it _wasn't_ funny. And maybe, just maybe, there was some truth in it.

...*...

She'd left James with a kiss on the cheek and an apologetic "Look, I'll explain later, I promise." Now, plate in one hand, she slipped into a seat on the Ravenclaw table, ignoring the strange looks she was getting.

"Laura? You got a minute?"

The girl she'd sat down next to, a round-faced seventh-year, looked up from the hefty volume of healing spells in her lap, blinking at Lily in obvious surprise. Lily didn't blame her much; they were acquaintances more than friends, and if Laura had come and sat next to her on the Gryffindor table, she would have been just as surprised. Laura rallied impressively, though, with a brief little smile and a nod as she regained her composure.

"Hello, Lily. Yes, I think so... what can I do for you?"

"It's not really for _me_, exactly..." Now that she was actually trying to make this happen, Lily realised she had almost no idea of how to go about asking. "I mean, it'll help me out, but... look, can we maybe meet up after dinner and talk about it then? I'd hate to interrupt your reading, and James is making stupid faces at us."

"It's a little late to not interrupt my reading," Laura pointed out, a little dryly, but she nodded. "That should be fine. Where shall we meet?"

"I'll catch up with you out of the Hall," Lily said, standing up, and gave Laura a smile. "Thanks. Sorry I interrupted your dinner. Sorry," she repeated, with a smaller, more apologetic smile, to the table in general, and hurried back to the Gryffindor table, sliding into her usual place next to James.

"What was that all about?" he asked, through a mouthful of spaghetti, as she sat down.

"Just... something I'm plotting." She shrugged, tipping him the wink, and finally dug into her own dinner with some gusto. "You're not the only one who can do big elaborate schemes, Potter." Then, when he turned the puppy-dog eyes on her (making her splutter with laughter and almost spit bolognaise across the table), she shook her head, sighing in mock-exasperation. "I promise I'll tell you all this evening, okay? Cross my heart and hope to die. Just don't make that face any more." Smiling, she patted his knee, then turned to the other Marauders. "So, what did I miss? We were on Halloween plans, right?"

The rest of dinner passed quickly, in the usual buzz of conversation. When they were all finished, Lily excused herself, peeling away from the group as they left, to wait for Laura just inside the doors. It wasn't a long wait; Lily suspected the Ravenclaw had finished her dinner a while ago, and was just waiting for the Marauders to leave. She greeted Laura with a smile when they met, falling into step beside her.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Laura asked, as they headed outside into the crisp autumn air.

"Um..." Again, even after half an hour or so of trying to work out how to go about this, Lily found herself at a loss for words. "You know Snape, right?"

"Severus?" Laura nodded, frowning slightly. "Of course. We're Potions partners."

"I know, but I mean, you're friends with him, right? You hang around after class, that kind of thing?" Lily was chewing on her lip, thoughtful and not a little awkward. She'd spent a year and half doing her utmost not to think about Severus Snape, bothered as she still was by everything that had happened. After so long, actively trying to understand him ran against the grain. "You see, it's Se—it's Snape I'm trying to help out."

Laura only raised an eyebrow, so Lily plunged on, still very aware of how awkward she felt. "Um, James kind of sneaked into Snape's dorm and took some of his things. I told him not to!" she added quickly, defensively. "And I'm going to make him put it all back, so... please don't tell Snape that part, all right? But he showed me it, and it kind of got me thinking..."

"Lily," Laura interrupted, eyebrows raised. "What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?"

Deep breath in, and then Lily let it out in a long _whoosh_. "I just want to..."

...*...

"You want to do _what_?"

"James." She folded her arms, staring him down. "You heard me. I said I want to set Snape up."

"Set him up." He looked positively horrified. "Set Snivelly up. On a date. On a date with a _person_. A person with _standards_. That's just cruel, Lils. I mean... that's _cruel_. And _why_?"

"I _told_ you," she said, exasperated, and sank back onto her bed, waving one of Snape's photos at him. "Because of _this_. Because maybe, you know, maybe if he's got a girlfriend, he won't need to stalk me any more. So _I'm_ happy, and _you're_ happy, and, Merlin, even _Snape's_ happy..."

"And what about Baines? Is _she_ happy in this equation?" James took off his glasses, flopping down onto the bed next to her, and squinted at her. "She's Muggleborn too, isn't she? You really think you're doing her a favour setting her up with a Slytherin? With _Snivelly_, for Godric's sake?"

Lily shifted, a little awkwardly. She had thought about that, about the repercussions of trying to get Snape together with a Muggleborn. How could she _not_, after what had happened in fifth year? But, well...

"They're already friends," she said, after a moment. "I mean, that's why it's her I'm trying to get on-side, James. And you know she's not stupid, she can back out if she wants to. I'm not going to _make_ her do anything..."

"Keep telling yourself that, Lils," James said darkly, polishing his glasses and pushing them back up his nose, then stood up. "You just keep telling yourself that."

And then he was gone, leaving Lily right where she'd been a couple of hours before; staring at her hands and at the photos, and wondering desperately if she was doing the right thing.


	2. The Moment of Truth

**2 - The Moment of Truth**

Severus Snape was quite possibly the best Potions partner it was possible to have. Not only because he was the single most skilled student at the art - not only because he frequently produced potions better than Slughorn's exemplars – but also because he was uniquely quiet and unobtrusive. Like Laura, he absorbed himself quickly in the process, rarely looking up from his ingredients and his textbook, except to ask for something he couldn't reach, in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the general hubbub. In short, conversation at their bench tended to be more or less non-existent, and both of them liked it that way.

Today, more than ever, Laura was glad of that. The silence gave her time to think, and, for once, she wasn't wholely concentrated on her own potion.

Lily's request had come out of the blue, or it had certainly seemed that way. And it had been, hands down, the strangest request Laura had ever been made. For a moment after she'd been asked, she'd just gaped, in a very un-Laura way. She hadn't known what she'd expected the Head Girl to ask – she _had_ known she expected it to be something to do with Lily's position. Maybe something about how Severus had been acting this year, colder and more distant than ever, since they'd come back in September. Maybe something about class, even, or about Severus being bullied...

But when Lily had finally spat it out, cleared her throat and said simply, "I want you to ask Snape out," Laura had just been... stunned. Utterly thrown. It was such an unexpected request. But...

"Monkshood, please." Severus' voice interrupted her thoughts. Laura took a second to register that she'd already been mincing her leeches for far too long, and that Severus was several steps ahead of her in the recipe, and quickly put her knife to one side, passing him the yellow flowers. Monkshood wasn't in the original potion, of course, but their experiments had confirmed that it made a significant improvement.

He looked at her for a moment as he took the plants, his brow knitting slightly, as if with concern. For a moment, he looked as though he might ask her something – perhaps whether she was all right, or what was holding her back on the potion – but then he seemed to think better of it, turning away again to light a fire under his cauldron and begin stripping the monkshood.

Laura glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she scraped the finely-chopped leeches into her own almost empty cauldron. He certainly wasn't what you'd call a catch. True, when he was as absorbed as this, the lines of his face softened slightly, and the loss of that perpetual sneer did a great deal for his looks. And perhaps, if you washed his hair and got rid of some of the oiliness of his skin, he might even not be ugly. But even then, it took a great deal of imagination, not to mention charity, to make him good-looking.

Then again, she'd never been much taken with how people _looked_. And she liked him. True, until Lily's insane suggestion, she'd never so much as given a passing thought to him in _that_ way, but she liked him well enough. He shared her interests, he could be a surprisingly engaging conversationalist on the rare occasion that he was drawn into conversation, and, above all, they understood one another. They understood the drive for knowledge, the need for experiment and analysis, the near-obsession with order that both shared. It was still a mystery to her how he had failed to be Sorted into Ravenclaw. More than that, he was one of the few people she knew who was as comfortable with silence as she was. Like her, Severus liked to be alone; like her, he valued study over socialising. They had a great deal in common.

Yes, she liked him well enough, even if it was only as a friend. And really, there were much worse ways to spend a date than as friends. Or near-friends, she supposed; she wasn't presumptuous enough to think that Severus counted her as a real friend. To the best of her knowledge, since the incident with Lily in fifth year, there was nobody in the school who Severus counted as a real friend.

If nothing else, she thought, slicing her daisy roots up quickly and dropping them in the cauldron, it would be as good a way as any to spend a Hogsmeade trip.

That settled in her mind, she returned her full concentration to her potion, trying to make up the time she had lost in thought. It wasn't until halfway through the lesson, when both their potions were simmering away, that she turned to her partner.

"Severus?"

"Hm?" He reached over to stir his potion briefly, not looking up at her.

Oh, Merlin. How to even go about this, now her mind was made up? She wasn't exactly experienced in dating, since she was almost entirely uninterested in the whole thing... and Severus was unlikely to be the most receptive to the idea.

She settled for, "It's a Hogsmeade weekend soon," stirring her own potion carefully as she spoke.

"What a scintillating observation," he replied, his voice dry, and reached for the vial of dragon blood on the desk beside him. "I had no idea, with the way the entire school has been buzzing about it."

"Do you plan on going?"

He looked up at her then, one eyebrow arched sardonically as he uncorked the vial. "Laura, when, in all the time we have known one another, have I shown even the slightest interest in visiting Hogsmeade?"

It was a fair point. She had no idea whether he had even given the consent form to his parents. Severus' response to Hogsmeade trips turned apathy into an art form. She suspected he might actually enjoy being almost the only one in their year who still stayed at school on Hogsmeade weekends – and, to a certain degree, she could sympathise. To somebody like him, it must be quite pleasant to be able to wander the corridors in the fairly certain knowledge of no Potter, no Black, nobody to attack him or bother him or break into his thoughts. Still, she soldiered on.

"I thought we might go together." Then, when he didn't respond – just turned back to his potion, tilting the vial to drip in the three drops necessary for the tincture – she cleared her throat and went on, "As a couple, I mean."

_That_ got a reaction. Severus spluttered, doing a rather comical double-take. Almost all of the dragon blood spilt into his gently steaming potion, sending up a cloud of acrid black smoke and turning the light blue liquid an angry, bruise-coloured purple. He coughed, waving away the smoke with one hand, but his attention was no longer on the ruined potion at all; instead, he stared at her, incredulous, for once seeming incapable even of sarcasm. "_What_?"

Laura was, for the moment, saved from having to answer (and in front of the entire class, who were now staring; it was rare for Severus Snape to make a potion which was less than perfect, much less mess it up as obviously and dramatically as that) by Professor Slughorn, who was clearly as surprised as the rest of the class by Severus' sudden lapse of skill. "Severus, m'boy, what was that all about?" he boomed, moving pondorously down the classroom towards them.

"Nothing, Professor." There were rare spots of colour on Severus' cheeks, faint but visible. His jaw was tight, lending his voice a tautness which sounded unusually genuine. Laura couldn't help feeling bad; she'd clearly caused that accident, and she knew how Severus valued appearances. "I hiccuped while I was pouring the dragon blood, that's all." There was a wave of giggles from some of the nearer benches, where the students were listening avidly. Severus ignored them, extinguishing the fire under his cauldron and looking briefly at the sizzling, foul-smelling potion he'd made. "I'm afraid it's ruined."

"I'm afraid it is," Slughorn agreed, waving smoke aside with one pudgy hand and frowning into the cauldron. "This isn't like you at all, Severus."

"No, Professor." Severus' voice was a study in neutrality. "If you don't mind me staying a little late, I can probably rectify this." He flicked his wand irritably at the bruise-coloured stuff, Vanishing it with a curl of his lip.

"My dear boy! I wouldn't dream of it!" Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder, making Severus' face darken; it didn't take any kind of familiarity with him to know that Slughorn's joviality grated on him. "You're clearly not well. Why don't you go to the Hospital Wing, sit this one out?"

Severus twitched away from the professor's hand slightly, his sneer more pronounced than ever. "I'm fine," he insisted, pulling his cauldron towards him. "Honestly, Professor, I'd rather you just left me to it."


	3. Getting Under My Skin

**3 - Getting Under My Skin**

"Who put you up to it?" Severus strode after Laura, his jaw tight. He'd spent the remainder of the lesson with his head down, ignoring the snickering of the rest of the class and the obvious, stifling concern of Professor Slughorn, but inside, he had been fuming – and still was. True, he considered Laura little more than a casual acquaintance who happened to share his interests (at least, so he told himself), but he had supposed she had more sense than that. More reliability.

In fact, he was hurt. Genuinely, and surprisingly, he was hurt. No, she wasn't a friend – since Lily, he didn't like to think in terms of friends – but he had thought she was, if nothing else, an ally. She generally sympathised with his dislike of Potter and Black's antics, and at least _seemed_ thoroughly genuine in doing so. She had always tended to the sensible, logical side of things, much as he tried to. She was one of the last people he would have expected to find implicated in yet another prank at his expense.

Because what else could it be?

He wasn't blind, or stupid, and he hadn't held his own against Potter and Black for six and a half years by wandering blindly into every trap. And this one was obvious. Painfully obvious. So obvious, in fact, that he half-suspected some double-cross. After all, whatever else you could say about him – and people had said plenty – Severus Snape was undeniably aware of his own shortcomings. It was hard not to be, after seventeen years of having them hurled back at you. He knew full well he was ugly, unhygienic, vitriolic, antisocial, and all the rest. All of those were things he had accepted long ago – even embraced.

But none of those precisely screamed 'eligible bachelor', did they? Particularly not when it came to somebody like Laura, who had always shown about as much interest in becoming entangled in a relationship as Severus himself. Perhaps even less.

Which was why he had been quite so taken aback by her proposal – so surprised, in fact, that he'd ruined a potion entirely, which was a blunder he was sure would smart for a while yet. If there was one thing Severus had about himself to prize above all else, it was that he never, ever put a step wrong in Potions. As much as that, it was the fact that he had been corralled into such a ridiculous display of emotion by something so ridiculous. Today had been an embarrassment, and if this was a prank – _what do you mean, 'if'?_ – then whoever the perpetrator was had already got their money's worth.

And that meant that Severus would just have to get back at them. He wasn't about to let something like this slide.

"Who put you up to it?" he repeated, pressing his lips together as he caught up with her.

"Nobody put me up to anything," Laura said cagily, speeding up a little. Her cheeks looked a little pink, and Severus seriously doubted that it was from exercise. Moving a little faster himself, he stepped around in front of her, his heavy eyebrows beetling together. His hurt didn't show on his face – he was adept at hiding little things like that – but his anger did; the lines of his features were drawn taut, and his dark eyes flashed.

"Don't insult my intelligence," he spat. "I know you better than that, Baines. Who was it?"

"Nobody," she repeated. "Severus, is it really so unthinkable that I asked you because I _wanted_ to?"

"Frankly, yes." There was a tightness in his throat, all of a sudden. He pushed it away, jaw tightening more than ever. Hurtful enough that she would mock him like that. Worse that she would mock him so continuously and relentlessly. He would never have thought it of her – her of all people. His lips moved silently for a moment, before he spoke. "I'm sure you have better things to do on a Hogsmeade weekend, Baines. You should hurry up, you'll be late to your next class." He stepped aside, watching her steadily. She hesitated a moment, looking at him with what almost seemed like concern, then turned and hurried off.

When she was gone, Severus all but collapsed against the harsh stone of the wall, feeling its roughness against his back. For once, he didn't spare even a thought for what he might look like to his fellow students, although habit kept his face stony and expressionless. He touched his fingertips to his temple, looking thoughtful for a moment, then let out a deep breath. "Merlin," he muttered, irritably, and stalked off in the opposite direction. There was somebody he needed to find.

Of course, that was easier said than done. The person he needed was in a different House, after all, and after wandering the castle for a good half-hour, he was forced to admit that she was either in her own common room or in a lesson – either way, he wasn't about to have his chance any time soon. And it was so difficult, in any case, when he would have to keep his head down about talking to her – both from his own House and from hers, both of whom were likely to give him trouble for it.

In any case, Lily was almost always in the company of that lout Potter nowadays. Severus might relish the conflict, particularly when he was in as foul a mood as now, but it wouldn't precisely help with speaking to her.

In the end, he settled himself in to wait for his chance. All through dinner, his eyes flicked now and then to the Gryffindor table, hoping against hope that she would decide to leave on her own for once. He even briefly considered sneaking out of his dorm and catching her on patrol, but that was an idea entertained for only a moment before he realised that her patrol would be with Potter, as well. Merlin, how had they got to be so inseparable? It made him sick to his stomach.

Eventually, as the Great Hall emptied and he was left almost alone in the enormous room, still deep in thought, he came to a decision. The note was short, and carefully charmed so that only Lily could read it:

_Evans,_

_We need to talk about what you told Baines. Meet me by the lake as soon as you can._

_Snape._

He folded the parchment neatly into his hand, holding it lightly as he stepped outside. The October air was crisp and clear, and the stars were just beginning to come out in a clear sky that was still blue. His breath hung in frigid clouds; winter, he thought to himself, was coming on fast this year, and that was fine by him.

Pausing on his way to the lakeside, he looked up at the high walls of the castle, narrowing his eyes for a moment to see in the gathering darkness. The lights were on in her room. Perfect. Pulling out his wand, he opened the hand which held his note, and stood to watch it flutter up into the dark. For a moment after the little scrap of paper disappeared from view, he remained there, still watching, and then abruptly turned on his heel, striding towards the lake.

It was a good half-hour before she joined him there, and he was beginning to wonder whether he might have wasted his time utterly. But he was still sitting there, straight-backed, legs crossed, staring out over the water, when he heard her come up behind him.

"You took your time," he said, without looking around. Hoping it _was_ Lily, because otherwise, that coolness could blow up in his face.

"Sorry." It was her. Thank Salazar for that; he could do without any more awkwardness in his day. "I had to shake James. You know what he's like."

"Unfortunately," Severus remarked dryly, "he's never given me much space to ignore what he's like. Much as I would love to." Now he turned his head – now, as she sat down next to him, he finally looked at her. Even in the dark, even here and now, she was beautiful enough to make his heart ache. He forced himself to ignore it, with a conscious effort. Now wasn't the time. "You told Laura to ask me out." Not an accusation, even, but a simple statement of fact.

"She told you I did?" Lily sounded surprised.

"Where else would I have found out?" Technically, he wasn't lying. Misdirecting, at worst. And, besides, Laura _had _told him – she just hadn't known she was doing it. "Evans, you had no right."

There was a moment – a long, stretched-out second of silence. When she answered, there was a tautness in her voice that hadn't been there before. "_I_ had no right, Snape? I had no right to try and set you up with someone you might actually be happy with, but you have the right to _stalk_ me?" Her voice was starting to rise. He knew that tone. That was a righteous-anger tone, the kind he'd heard her use against her sister a hundred times.

And, as always, he felt his own temper rising, too.

"You had no right," he repeated, in a deceptively soft voice. "When have I ever needed your _pity_, Evans? I didn't need it in fifth year, and I don't need it now. When – _when_ – have I ever needed your help to be _happy_?"

Again, that pause. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and sad, all the anger gone.

"Severus," she said, quietly, looking away, "when have you ever _been_ happy?"


	4. Still & Cool In Thy Own Mind

**4 - Still & Cool In Thy Own Mind**

He sat there for a long time when Lily was gone, turning those words over in his mind. _When have you ever been happy_? He'd held his tongue when she asked, of course, partly through shock, and partly because... well, it hardly seemed appropriate to give the truthful answer. _With you, Lily. I was happy with you_.

But was it the truth? With her, he hadn't been miserable. He hadn't been hated or despised, at least not by her (her sister was another matter entirely). He hadn't been lonely. For a couple of years, he'd lost a little of his melancholy, his mistrust. But had he been _happy_?

For the first time in his life, Severus found himself questioning what the word even meant; _happy_. It wasn't something he'd ever given much thought to before. Happiness had never been much of a driving force in his life – it had been on the sidelines, even when it was within view at all. What he'd been looking for was absence – the absence of pain, of fear, of embarrassment, sadness, loneliness. The absence of misery. And, for a short time, he'd found that absence, in the little girl with the flame-red hair and the infectious laugh and the bright, bright green eyes. But...

_When have you ever been happy?_

Had that been happiness? He'd always assumed so. He'd felt free with her, not just from home and all that that entailed, but free from himself, free from being the strange little boy with the greasy hair, the hooked nose, the changing network of bruises. Free from being hated or, worse, forgotten. Most of all, free from being Severus Snape.

Because girls like Lily weren't friends with boys like Severus Snape. They were friends with boys like Potter. Being friends with her was never going to last. The world had crept in around them; prejudice, rivalry, anger, destructiveness. Just as things always crept in, because happiness was a vacuum, an _absence_, and nature abhorred a vacuum.

But _had_ it been happiness?

Had it ever been happiness?

Looking back on it now, so focused on the memories that he could almost see them painted on the still, dark mirror of the lake, he thought for the first time that it might not have been. She talked about happiness as if it was a _thing_, something you could hold, even touch. They all did – everyone who spoke about it. Something you found, something you kept, something you _were_, not something you weren't.

He sat by the lake, staring at the sliver of moonlight reflected in the crisp surface of the water, and wondered if he'd been looking at it wrong the whole time. He'd never believed in seeking happiness. He believed in the search for two things; knowledge, and power. If you had those, you could bend the world to your will. And, when you had the world at your feet, when you could move aside everything that hurt and everything that saddened, then how could you fail to be happy? Then, you would get rid of everything you didn't want, and you would have...

"Nothing." He murmured it into the frigid cloud of his breath, and closed his eyes, feeling them sting with tears. Had he really been this stupid, for seventeen years? If all you needed for happiness was nothingness, then why did he want _her_?

Because she could give him something. Because he knew she could give him something, something he'd touched but never held, something he'd passed by because he was too stupid to see it at all.

Because she, alone among anyone he'd ever met, could make him _happy_.

Now he felt the tears come in earnest, making hot trails down his cheeks, and, for once, he made no move to stop them. The stars, sharply reflected in the lake, blurred into a smear of light, and he closed his eyes. It struck him like a blow to the chest, harder than it had since fifth year, maybe harder than it ever had, just what he'd turned his back on with that one word that had turned her eyes cold. Not just the only person he'd ever really considered a friend, but the only person who'd cared about _him_ enough to give him what he'd been too bitter to receive. The only person he'd ever known who might have made him happy. The only...

_No. Not the only person._

Tears still running down his face, Severus opened his eyes, his brows drawing together as he tried to put his finger on where that thought had come from. Of course she was the only person. What had happened with Laura earlier had been an aberration, nothing more. The brief glance he'd taken at her thoughts had shown that much. She'd been acting on Lily's advice, that was all. Even if...

"No," he said, out loud, folding his bony hands together in his lap. No, he wouldn't think of that. He wouldn't over-analyse. Legilimency was still foreign territory, as far as he was concerned. He'd been lucky what he'd wanted was right at the top of her mind; lucky it was easy to interpret. He wasn't going to muddy the waters with whatever else he might have seen in her – thoughts and emotions that were nothing to do with him and none of his business. She'd done it because Lily had asked her to, and that was all.

But... it didn't matter. Why Laura was doing it didn't matter. _Laura_ didn't matter.

What mattered was that Lily – Lily, who had stood by him when nobody else did; Lily, who had once been the best part of his life; Lily, who he loved – Lily had given him another chance, however misguided, at that gift she'd tried to give him once before, that he'd passed blindly by. Lily was trying for him. She was trying to make him _happy_.

_When have you ever been happy_?

"If nothing else," he told the air quietly, "I can try." And maybe, armed with that new outlook, with that new weapon in his arsenal of knowledge... maybe, if only for a moment, he might succeed.

He stood, the breeze tugging at his robes and cooling the damp tracks on his cheeks, and walked away.


	5. Hogsmeade

**5 - Hogsmeade**

It might have been easier, he thought later, if she'd asked him a year before. Then, he'd still have been a legal minor. He'd still have needed a parental consent form for Hogsmeade. And, of course, he still wouldn't have had one. It would have been much simpler to have the choice taken out of his hands.

But he was seventeen now. An adult. And, as far as he was concerned, he no longer _had_ parents to give consent. So he couldn't simply push the whole thing aside like that.

And even if, after his talk with Lily, he might be a little more torn about the whole thing, he still had no doubts that simply putting it aside would be the easiest and least painful course of action.

Still. He'd made his decision that night by the lake, whether or not he admitted it. The two days he spent in deliberation were... a formality, and given that name only because he refused to call them cowardice. He'd known from the moment he stood up by the lakeside that he'd end up doing this, and now, the day before Hogsmeade, he was finally resigned to it.

He had no intention of approaching Laura specifically for the purpose. His acceptance mirrored her invitation; a rare conversation in the usual oasis of silence at their Potions bench.

"I suppose it seems a little foolish to go through all of Hogwarts without once visiting its neighbour town," he said, coolly and out of the blue, as he carefully stirred his potion. She was adding mouse blood to hers, and that mean, vindictive part of him - which usually shrank back in the peace of the Potions dungeons – hoped that his acceptance would have the same effect on her potion as the initial conversation had had on his.

It didn't. She blinked, but added the blood with her usual precision, putting the vial back on the bench before answering.

"Are you agreeing to go with me, Severus?"

"No," he said, acidly, "I'm suggesting that I should go with Potter. Of course I am, Baines. Is that really so shocking?"

"Frankly?" For a moment, she met his eyes, then looked back at her potion. "A little, yes."

The corner of Severus' mouth turned up a little at that, in a smile that was thin, bitter, and above all, brief. He knew it was, of course, but there was something amusing about how softly, neutrally, and politely she pointed out the blindingly obvious. "Shall we say the Silver Cauldron, at twelve?"

Laura considered for a moment, her attention back on her potion, then nodded. "Quite acceptable," she agreed, her smile almost hidden as she turned her face away.

But only almost. Severus' heavy eyebrows quirked upwards, and his mouth curled, for a moment, into a smirk as he turned back to his own cauldron.

...*...

The Silver Cauldron was a small building, tucked away down a side alley, which was part of the reason he'd chosen it. The other part was that, frankly, he had no intention of wasting his time standing around and doing nothing while he waited for her, and, given how little interest he had in most of Hogsmeade, that seemed the most likely alternative. Even in a place like this – half a step up from the pawnshop just down the street – there seemed to be a lot of things which cost more than he had with him. Then again, careful investigation had assured him that much of their wares were fake, or at least an inferior substitute, so that was hardly a great loss.

He was just examining a jar of powdered doxy eggs, which at least appeared to be genuine and which he had been lacking, when the rusty bell over the door jingled. Putting the jar aside almost guiltily, Severus straightened up a little, almost invisible in the shadows as Laura stepped over the worn stone threshold.

"Twelve-fifteen," he remarked, stepping out to meet her. "I was starting to wonder whether you might have decided to spare us both."

"I'm sorry I'm late," she replied, looking a little pained by that comment, and glanced around the shop, her arms wrapped around herself. He hardly needed Legilimency to know she was nervous, although why, now that was a more elusive thing. "I didn't think you'd appreciate me bringing half of Ravenclaw with me."

"Quite correctly," he allowed, with a slight nod. "Did you have a plan for this sparkling day in the history of all days, or is that a trifling aspect you neglected?" Aware that he was being harsh. Not caring. It detracted from the sick feeling in his stomach that was almost like fear. He even relished the discomfiture which passed over her face, although he knew it wasn't fair.

"I thought we could... go for a drink," she ventured.

"In one of the pubs here?" Severus quirked an eyebrow. "I don't think so."

"Buy some food and find a nice spot to eat it? Like a picnic. It could be fun." She put her hands on her hips as his other eyebrow rose to meet the first. "It's that or Puddifoot's," she added, with a faint smile.

He actually huffed a laugh, quickly muffled. "Fine. A picnic, then. Inspired." His sardonicism sounded weak even to him. Then again, it was only Laura – and she was somebody with whom he could, almost safely, be less than sardonic, because she would still care about hi-

He cleared his throat, avoiding the thought; it led to too many more thoughts, and all of them led back to what he'd seen whilst spying on her mind. "Well, then," he said, brusquely, and stalked towards the door without another glance at her. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

After only a split second, she followed, hurrying to catch up with him; he had long legs, and could walk fast when he wanted to. They walked in silence, as always, but it lacked some of its usual companionable air. Severus had a cold, withdrawn air about him, like he wanted to forget what was going on.

As they bought their food – simple stuff; sandwiches and pastries – and walked down to the edge of the village to sit on one of the bridges, that frigidness lifted from him a little, if only a very little. More troublingly, for him at least, he was aware of it becoming clearer for what it was; awkwardness, even shyness. He knew full well that this kind of business was outside his comfort zone, but that was no excuse to get shy. She was just a girl. She wasn't even Lily. Just... a girl he was acquainted with. And because of that, he couldn't be shy around her. Couldn't be awkward. Couldn't be _weak_.

Couldn't let her know that any of this was going through his head.

"You could at least have told me it was Evans," he said, abruptly. "What harm did you think it would do?"

"How did you know?" she asked, but she didn't sound entirely surprised.

_I just sneaked into your head, that's all_, he thought, dryly, and was almost amused. Out loud, all he said was, "It didn't take much working out, once I started actually thinking about it. Who else would it be, after all? If I thought it was Potter or Black, I would hardly have agreed to be here, and as for the other people I know, well..." _Most of them wouldn't lower themselves to talk to a filthy Mudblood like you, let alone encourage you to think yourself equal_. _To think yourself worthy to date one of them. Even a halfblood one of them._

He didn't say it, but he clearly didn't have to; this time, it was her lip which curled, for an almost invisibly short instant. She didn't much like who he usually spent his time with – and, frankly, he couldn't blame her. For a moment, again, his mind flashed to Lily. She'd had the same reaction, of course, told him all through their first few years at Hogwarts to watch out for them, not to let them influence him, but in the end, of course...

"It didn't seem... important." Laura cut into his thoughts.

It took him a moment to remember what they'd been talking about. "If it didn't seem important," he replied smoothly, "you would have told me when I asked. Still, never mind, I suppose. Let's just eat." He picked up his untouched sandwich, looking away again as he bit into it.

They ate in silence for several minutes, Severus carefully keeping himself from touching her, Laura watching him out of the corner of her eye. At last, when he was done, Severus folded the wrappings neatly and stood up, the neat wad of paper in one hand. "Well," he said, coolly. "I suppose this was enjoyable enough. Perhaps we should do it again some time."

For a moment, Laura just sat there, watching him as he stalked over to the bin nearby and dropped his rubbish into it. It was only when he turned to walk away – in fact, only when he was already several yards down the street – that she stood up, very suddenly, and strode after him. "Severus!"

He stopped and turned his head, arching an eyebrow, his expression otherwise almost entirely disinterested.

"Maybe you don't consider this a date," she said – almost snapped, he thought with something like surprise; agitated, certainly, which wasn't a descriptor he'd normally consider suiting her – "maybe you only consider this a friendly walk, or a concession, or something, and that's fine, but Merlin, Severus, if you don't like me in that way, it does _not_ mean you have to _hate_ me!"

He blinked, actually taken aback by her vehemence. "Rest assured, Baines, I don't hate you."

"Then don't act like it! You've spent this whole time acting as though I disgust you, Severus. As if touching me might give you dragonpox. If you're really so opposed to the idea of this outing, Severus, then _why did you say yes_?"

Again, for a moment, Severus could only blink, for once unable to summon up something pithy and sarcastic. His eyebrows drew together slightly, but he didn't answer. What could he say to that, when he didn't know an answer to give?

After a protracted moment of this dead and somehow awful silence, Laura appeared to give up, all but throwing up her hands as she stalked past him, back towards Hogwarts. Severus was left standing in the middle of the street, uncharacteristically speechless, and feeling somehow lost.

"Because I hoped," he muttered, after a moment, torn between bitterness and a strange kind of guilt. "I hoped it might help."


	6. Why?

**6 - Why?**

The next few days were, even by his standards, fairly dire. He hadn't realised until now how much of a comfort his Potions sessions had been – how glad he had been for a silence which was companionable and never misunderstood, how glad for the knowledge that he was safe and with someone of like mind, how good it was, for a few hours a week, not to be hated.

Laura stopped attending their experimental Potions sessions, stopped sharing her ideas for this tincture or that incantation. She still shared his bench in lessons, but he had the definite feeling that it was only because she had no choice; the amiable silence usually shared at their bench had descended into something thicker and altogether less pleasant. He might not understand just what he had done to make her quite so angry, but he didn't need to know that to sense the emotions swirling in the silence at their bench. Betrayal. Upset. A swelling bud of hate.

It was this last which recurred in his mind, time and again. _Hate_. It crossed his mind every time he even glanced at her, and it was bitter. _Hate_. Was that really what everything came down to with him? He was beginning to think it was. He hated the world, and the world hated him back. She had been an anomaly, nothing more. Hate was the keystone of his life. To be Severus Snape was to hate, and to be hated; that was all there was to it.

Some small part of him rebelled against the thought; a part which, as the days passed and Laura drew further and further away, started to grow, hot, discontented and uncomfortable; that part which said he couldn't pass off responsibility so easily. It was the same kind of thing that had lost him Lily, after all. Which had made him miserable. This constant belief that hate was inevitable, that he could never escape it, that there was no use even trying.

It had been a week or more since the conversation by the lake, but it still echoed in his mind; _When have you ever been happy_? and all that went with it.

When had he ever been happy?

Well, when had he ever tried?

It took him until Friday to get to it. Six days, spent with the unfamiliar feeling of guilt heavy in his chest. Six days of never meeting her eyes, of doing his experiments alone and for once lonely, six days of uncomfortable recollection of anger on her face and pain in her eyes. Six days. When it came to girls, he thought sardonically, it took him an incredibly long time to screw up his courage.

But at last, on Friday, he brought together enough courage to overcome his pride and talk to her. Not in the Potions room – not where they could be seen; word had got around that Snape had finally shaken his Mudblood Ravenclaw friend, and he was perfectly willing to let that be believed, if it set him a little higher in the estimation of his House and gained him a little more trust in the eyes of his fellow Death Eaters. No, especially if he failed to make things right, it was better not to be seen trying.

So, instead, he contacted her as he had Lily; a charmed note, this one sent drifting into her lap at supper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look down at it, and turned his eyes back to his soup, not wanting to know her reaction, not wanting her to try and catch his eye. Would she think anything of it at all? It had been a very simple note, after all – just two lines and his neatly jagged signature:

_Laura,_

_I have some ideas about the Billywig stings, if you'd like to join me in experimenting._

_I'm sorry._

_Severus._

For such an uninspired little scrap, it seemed to have taken an unutterable degree of time and effort. Severus wasn't used to apologising. The closest he'd come to a real apology in years had been after the incident with Lily, when he hadn't found himself able to actually say anything. It was at least a good sign, he decided, that he could risk it with Laura. He'd been starting to worry that he might care too much about her, but if he cared little enough to risk looking bad in front of her... well, that had to be encouraging, didn't it?

He let his long, greasy hair form a curtain across his face, cutting her out of view, and tried to take as little part in the conversation going on around him as he usually did. It was tempting to throw himself uncharacteristically into the talking, but that would only draw attention to him, and he didn't want that. So he sat there, in an agony of expectation and dread, non-committally shrugging where the conversation demanded it, and wondering what her reaction had been. Had she understood? He hoped she wasn't aware how much effort the note had cost him; knew that she almost certainly was. She knew him too well. Why had he let her know the first thing about him in the first place? None of this would have happened if he'd just learnt his lesson from Lily, and learnt to keep his distance.

Then again, of course, he'd met Laura before fifth year. It didn't excuse undue familiarity, but it did explain his lack of caution. He hadn't realised then how much it hurt to let people in, to trust them. Now he knew, and he should never have...

_Shut up_, he told himself, taking a rather ferocious bite out of his bread roll. Now wasn't the time for introspection, if there even _was_ a time for introspection. He focused instead, or tried to, on the conversation, which he'd long ago lost his place in, and when he looked up again, Laura was gone.

After supper, after the conversation had died out and the rest of his House had left him sitting alone at the long table, Severus finally stood up, mind calmer now that the buzzing irritation of conversation was gone, and headed for the dungeons. Whether or not she decided to join him, he was going to run those experiments. The rest, now, was up to her, so why worry about it?

He did worry, though. It took him twice as long as usual to set up his equipment on the Potions benches, and not only because there was only one person there to do it. Even with the extra time, she wasn't there when he'd finished setting up, and he found himself sighing, much to his own surprise, as he opened his Potions book and started to mix the potion as they'd been taught, careful to match the recipe perfectly.

It had been bottled, labelled, and joined by a second potion, several shades darker and with a certain brownish tinge, and the third mixture was just coming to the boil when Severus turned to fetch fresh potion vials and saw her standing in the doorway. She was smiling faintly, leaning on the doorframe with her arms folded, and had clearly been there for some time; despite himself, Severus jumped. "How long have you been watching me?" he demanded, a little overdefensively, as his heart settled back into a normal, steady rhythm.

She shrugged, and – to his mortification – laughed. "Maybe half an hour?"

"When were you planning on letting me know?" His voice had regained a little of its usual acidity.

"I expected that you would hear me come in. And then I thought, when you didn't, I would wait and see how long it took you." She was far too amused by all this, he thought sourly, and looked back at his potion, lowering the heat under it with a flick of his wand.

"Well," he said, "why don't you make yourself useful, then, and help me get some vials?"

Unimpressed was too weak a word for the look she gave him, but she did as she was asked, passing him a handful of the slim glass vessels and watching as he carefully poured his potion into three vials, corked them, and put them with the others, Vanishing the excess potion. It was only when he'd finished this almost ritualistic operation that she spoke again.

"Are you really?"

Distracted by his observations of the colour and shade of the potion (this one was bluish, and lighter than the others) Severus took a moment to reply. "Am I really what, Baines?"

"Sorry."

His first instinct was to deny it, salvage what little dignity he had left. But he'd come too far for that, now, put too much effort into this whole process. So he bit back that instinct, back still turned to her as he finished taking notes, then looked back over his shoulder at her. There was an unusual frankness to this whole thing, an openness which made him feel uncomfortably naked, and now they'd reached the moment of truth, he just wanted this whole thing over with.

"Yes," he said, bluntly. "Yes, I'm sorry. I was... wrong to act the way I did." The effort of saying it was almost a physical strain; the words stuck in his throat, so that he had to force them out, and they came out strangled and tight. To admit you were wrong was, in his experience, almost always a mistake. It opened you up to all kinds of scrutiny. Made you look lesser. Made you look weak. That was all it was – an admission of weakness.

But, to his surprise, the smile which was starting to play about her lips didn't look self-satisfied, or smug, or like she'd gained one over him. It looked almost... proud. With a pang, he was reminded of Lily – Lily's face when he'd been Sorted. That was the same kind of look. Pride – not in herself, but in him. Why?

_Why_?


	7. You Have To Wonder

**7 - You Have To Wonder**

It was his frankness which had surprised her, which had persuaded her to come along in the first place. She hadn't expected it of him, not something so simple and so stark as an apology. It wasn't like him, and he had guessed correctly – she knew him well enough to see the effort it must have cost him. She didn't know or care why he was the way he was, but she knew him – uptight, self-possessed, and above all self-conscious – and she knew that people like that would have trouble with something as uncomplicated, as open as a simple "I'm sorry."

So she had been curious. Curious as to what game he was playing, even if that wasn't how she phrased it to herself. What was he after, with his Billywig experiments and his apologies? Was the letter even from him at all? A few quick charms had dispelled any lingering doubts she'd had on that front; he'd written it all right. But why?

He might be her friend, but that didn't make her blind to who he was, or who his friends were. The idea was repellent to her, but nonetheless, she had had to consider it; was this some game he'd been put up to by Slytherins less willing to put brains above blood? Or something worse than a game? By himself, she didn't think for a moment that Severus would do anything really bad to her, but, again, she knew him. She knew he could be bitter, that he was thinner-skinned than he would like anyone to know, and she knew that he had revenge in him. And she'd been treating him like an enemy, the last week or so. What if he'd decided – finally been persuaded – that she was one?

Actually, it was that, as much as the sheer curiosity of an apology from Severus Snape, which sent her down into the dungeons, cautious and with her hand near her wand. If she was his enemy now, she wanted to know it.

But when she reached the dungeon where they habitually met for experiments, he was alone, and he was as innocently busy as his note had said he would be, slicing ginger roots with his back to the door. Slowly, as she stood in the doorway, she began to relax. There was something oddly and inherently calming about watching Severus work on potions; the methodical way he cut and measured, the precise economy of his movements, the clear focus in his face, visible even in the small portion of his expression she could see from her angle. He was utterly absorbed in what he was doing, and his absorption was infectious; it was hard to watch him and not be as fascinated by his work as he was. Any fears of revenge dissipated, watching him so clearly and honestly at work, and a smile began to form on her face.

When he turned, and jumped back with surprise a moment later, the smile bubbled up into a laugh, which burst out despite her best efforts, although she knew it would humiliate him and that wasn't what she wanted at all. It was just that he was so utterly, amazingly _human_ when the mask was startled off him. It was like seeing a completely different Severus Snape, if only for a fraction of a second. She managed to suppress that slightly shocked laugh into a smile again, helping him collect together vials and watching him immediately absorb himself again into the ritual of filling them. But now that they'd started, now the note was back on her mind after the trance-like time watching him work, she had to ask.

"Are you really?"

"Am I really what, Baines?" Baines, not Laura. The walls were snapping back up around him, isolating them from one another, but she soldiered on.

"Sorry." Because, if this wasn't a trick, she had to believe it. Believe that he was actually, perhaps for the first time in his life, willing to offer up a genuine apology. That thought was almost as scary as it was flattering. She wasn't even sure what she wanted the answer to be.

But before he said a word, she knew it was true. It was in the tension infusing his entire body even before he turned, in the way his eyes refused to meet hers, most of all, in the unfamiliar openness of his face. He'd forced the mask away himself this time, if he was even aware it was a mask, and he wasn't being anything but honest. It seemed a naive thought, but she knew him. Perhaps not as well as she would like, but certainly more than _he_ would like, and well enough to know that there was a fear, a nakedness, an _honesty _in his expression she'd never seen in him before.

He'd apologised.

Merlin, he'd apologised.

And he'd _meant_ it.

She couldn't help smiling – not for herself, she was still in turmoil over what that answer might mean for her and she wasn't sure she liked it, but for him. For the fact that for the first time in the seven years she'd known him, he'd admitted a mistake. He'd _apologised_. Was it wrong to be proud of him for that, like he was a child who'd done something far beyond his years? She thought it might be, and she didn't care. He'd _apologised_.

It took her a moment to think of anything to say that. She couldn't exactly tell him he'd impressed her with his rare display of actual humanity; his pride would be wounded enough without that. But she couldn't let herself go without acknowledging it somehow, either. She settled for touching his arm, smiling with genuine wonder.

"I'm sorry, too," she said, almost gently, pulling her hand away again as he looked at it as if a slug had crawled onto his sleeve – she'd forgotten who she was dealing with for a moment, there. Oh, well. "I've been horrible all week. Friends?"

She put out her hand again, offering it to him to shake. His eyes slid down to it, then up to her face again, then back to her hand; when he took it, his long, bony fingers were warm from handling the potion, but his palm still cool.

"If that's what you want to call it," he said, stiffly, and turned his eyes back to the cauldron behind him, clearing his throat. "So. I made three potions, as you can see. One from the book, one with twice as many Billywig stings, and one with none at all. I thought we could test them, and then fine-tune whichever works best..."

It was familiar, and, if she was honest, it was a pattern she'd missed in a week without experiments. Brewing, testing, noting, clearing, brewing, testing, noting, clearing, time and time again, the steady rise and fall of labour with an outcome which was real and measurable and deeply satisfying. He took charge of things without really noticing, and she let him, because he was the Potions genius, but for all that, it felt like a team effort. And she appreciated that. It was nice to work with your friends, nice to be close to them.

She had never felt closer to Severus than she did that evening, working for hours as they brewed potions to ever-increasing specificities, her eyes sliding sideways to check she was matching his progress. She'd never felt closer to him than she did after that week when they had never felt further apart. And she had to wonder...

With his hair pulled back into a scraggy ponytail, out of his eyes, with his expression at once intent and relaxed, with the memory of a different kind of Severus fresh in her mind, she had to wonder.

_Friends, if that's what you want to call it_.

What _did_ she want to call it?

He still wasn't handsome. He would never be that. But she was curious about what she'd seen in him today, when his guard had been forced down; there had been fear in his black eyes and a hard, tense set to his mouth, but for all that, he had apologised. You had to wonder, she thought as she measured out her chopped slugs, what he was so afraid of. Did he think she would turn on him? That given the advantage, she would build on it, attack him, subjugate him?

You had to wonder how often that needed to happen to somebody before it became their first expectation.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, and found that she felt something like pity. The intensity of his focus on the work, blocking out the rest of the world, the soft line of his mouth and the hard crease between his eyebrows, the way he bent his head and hunched his shoulders, making his own body the barrier between himself and everybody else. Maybe it was the way the dim light fell, dulling the sharp lines of his pale face, or just the memory of how he'd looked when she'd asked if he was sorry, but she thought she could still see a little of that fear, under the mask, under the skin, under the veil of calm. Fear crushed in the vice of his own iron self-control until it hardened and coalesced into diamond bitterness.

Yes, thinking of him like that, as a kind of furnace where pain and fear were transformed into anger... thinking of him like that, he made a lot more sense, and yet made no sense at all. And she felt something like pity, and at the same time, something almost like admiration.

Something like... well, it was almost as if...

You had to wonder, she thought again, flicking out the flames under her cauldron as it began to bubble, and looked again at the side of Severus' face, composed and dignified as he reached for two fresh vials.

You had to wonder whether Lily knew more than she was letting on.


	8. Sleet, Snow & Secrets

**8 - Sleet, Snow, & Secrets**

There were two questions, Laura found, which had come out of that evening in the dungeons. The first, regarding whether friends was what she wanted to call it, she decided to leave well alone for now – that was a whole different can of worms, and one she wasn't all that willing to open just now. So she applied herself instead to the second, turning it over and over in her mind with the steady dedication she and Severus shared. The question rolling over and over in her mind, until it seemed to grow in importance, pushing its way forwards every time she looked at him.

Who _was_ Severus Snape?

On the surface, it seemed pretty obvious. He was a Slytherin, more intelligent than most, more self-conscious than almost any, and perhaps braver than most people suspected. He was a wizard, he was her Potions partner, and in most classes, he was among the most proficient. He was also, of course, rumoured to be a follower of Voldemort, but Laura didn't really believe that. For one thing, Snape wasn't a wizarding name. For another, he was friends with her. And, for a third, she found it hard to believe that Snape would ever really follow anybody at all. He was too proud.

But that wasn't an answer to her question, in any case. Since that Friday, she'd found herself wondering how it was she had known him for seven years and yet knew so little about him. She knew, vaguely, that he came from somewhere in the North-East, although he had carefully trained almost all the accent out of his voice - she knew that because he had already been friends with Lily Evans when they had come to Hogwarts, and Lily was from somewhere around Newcastle – but she didn't know where or how long he had lived there, or even if he still did. She knew that he stayed at school over Christmas – he made no secret of that - but she didn't know why, any more than she knew why he continued to abstain from washing even though it got him consistently teased, or why he would sometimes fight back and sometimes take punishment meekly, or why he hated James Potter quite as fiercely as he did. Merlin, she didn't even know his _birthday_!

And yet, she realised more and more, he knew an awful lot about her. He didn't drop it into conversation or anything, but every so often, something would come up which made it clear that he knew things about her she couldn't remember ever having mentioned to him. It wasn't that he was psychic or anything like that, she didn't think, but he had good ears and a good memory, and he had mastered the art of keeping his mouth shut and his eyes open. Once she started to realise how much he knew about her, she started to realise, too, how much he knew about everybody else. It was unnerving to think how he seemed to remember every throwaway comment, every gesture, every flick of the eyes made around him, seemed to file everything away somewhere deep in his mind to think through later.

For a while, she thought that might even be the key to his pain and his bitterness. If you remembered everything, and if so much that people said around you was harsh and meant cruelly... well, she thought, in that case, wouldn't you be bitter?

But that wasn't enough to explain it, not really. Thinking back, she could still remember him in first year, when they'd hardly known each other; small, skinny, pale, and every bit as cold and closed-off as he was now. Except around Lily, of course. Even from outside, she'd been able to see the difference when he was with Lily, the way he came alive in a much more _honest_ way than when he was working on potions or charms. Around Lily, he had been human.

Which meant Lily was the key.

It took her three weeks to come to that conclusion, and another two to decide what should be done about it. By then, Halloween had come and gone, and it was almost December, with the snow settled around the castle and already trodden into slush after half an hour. The buzz of Christmas spirit, barely dulled by the knowledge of the war going on outside Hogwarts, was starting to settle into the school; people were already talking excitedly about their Christmas plans, and who would visit who, and what the parties would be like. Severus, predictably, remained as untouched by the festive spirit as ever, and, less predictably, so did Laura. She had other things on her mind.

Her chance came not long after she'd made the decision to seize it; Lily had been busy a lot lately, between the inevitable snowball fights, her classes and her Head Girl duties, but on this particular morning, with the snow starting to melt outside and most of the school inside to escape the steady dripping of meltwater and splash of sleet in one's boots, Laura managed to catch her alone, crossing the grounds on her way to the Quidditch grounds – to meet Potter, Laura assumed.

"Lily? Can I have a word?"

Lily turned her head, looking a bit startled, although with the slush on the ground, she must surely have heard Laura coming a mile off – it was impossible to move quietly in that stuff, even if you wanted to. "What's up?"

"Nothing, really. I just..." Laura shrugged, not really sure what to say now it came down to it, and tried again. "It's about Severus."

"I never did apologise for that whole date thing, did I?" Lily sounded rather rueful, and not a bit embarrassed. "I heard it didn't go too well... sorry I talked you into it. What about Snape?"

"Nothing, really," Laura repeated, and wondered why she was so defensive about it. "I was just curious about some things, and you've known him longer than I have. Listen, if now isn't a good time..."

"It's fine," Lily said quickly, with a slightly awkward smile. "I think I probably owe you one, anyway. I was just going to meet James, but I'm sure he'll understand if I'm a few minutes late. Walk with me?"

Laura deliberated a second, then fell into step beside Lily. "...I was just wondering why he doesn't go home at Christmas." There, it was out. Lily looked confused for a moment, as if she wasn't quite sure who they were talking about, and then her face settled, steady and unreadable.

"I don't know," she said. It couldn't have been a clearer lie if she'd been trying.

"Yes, you do." It wasn't like Laura to be so persistent, but the question had been preying on her mind for weeks now, and she wasn't about to ask Severus – if he wouldn't take affront at that and withdraw further away from her than ever, she knew him even less than she thought. So Lily was her only chance at some answers, and one way or another, she was going to get them.

Lily's face softened for a split second, then hardened more than ever. "I don't think you should be asking me, Laura. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you. If he doesn't, I shouldn't be telling you instead. We might not be friends any more, but we were once, and I owe him that much." She looked away, speeding her pace a little. "Besides," she said quietly, "I really _don't_ know. I'm sorry, Laura. If you really want to know, you'll just have to ask him."

That was clearly it, an end to the conversation. Despite her earlier resolution, Laura found herself unwilling to press the point. With a sigh, she turned away, without a word, and started to splash back through the slush to the castle. Whatever it was Lily knew, it clearly made her uncomfortable, and Laura wasn't the kind of person to make people uncomfortable for no good reason.

Back in the common room, her feet steaming gently in front of the fire, she turned what Lily had said over and over in her mind. She could take a guess, from all of that and from her earlier suspicions, why Severus stayed put and why he was about as fond of Christmas as Scrooge on a particularly bad day, but on the other hand, Lily was right. If Severus wanted her to know, he would tell her. If not... she knew it wasn't fair to dig deeper, although that wouldn't necessarily stop her. But it certainly wasn't fair to drag Lily into it.

And perhaps, just perhaps, some things were better left buried.

...*...

She thought she'd got rid of all the photos of him. But some hidden memory led her unerringly to the bottom of her trunk, in the pocket she'd almost forgotten about even by fifth year, where she'd put a photo before they even left for Hogwarts. It was a Muggle polaroid, of course, taken when she'd first discovered her interest in photography. She'd taken it in the back garden of her house at Spinner's End, seven, nearly eight years ago.

He was skinny and sallow, and looking over his shoulder at her, surprised by the camera. It was the only photo she'd ever taken of him, that she remembered, where he was smiling. Frozen in time as a ten-year-old, still strange and quiet and bitter, but smiling.

When was the last time he'd smiled?

Lily traced a fingertip over the swollen bruise on his cheek, still visible even in a faded photograph, and closed her eyes. After a moment, she started to cry.


	9. Among Friends

**9 - Among Friends**

Something had changed between them. He'd thought it might just be the effect of the argument and the apology, something which would pass over and let them settle back into the comfortable distance which usually lay between them, but it had been more than a month, and the change showed no sign of fading. He was beginning to come to the conclusion that it was was deeper than that, something underlying and strong.

He didn't trust it. That was the long and short of it all; he didn't trust the way things were shifting, or the way she looked at him, sometimes, with a curiosity which unnerved him. She meant well enough, he thought – or at least hoped – but he wasn't blind to her curiosity, and he wasn't willing to satisfy it. Yet he knew her well enough to know that wouldn't be enough for her. She was a Ravenclaw, after all, and the defining feature of that House was the search for knowledge; he would be fooling himself if he thought she wouldn't dig deeper. Maybe even deep enough to find something.

So he drew away from her as much as he could, trying to regain that cool separation between them. He didn't want to be friends with her, after all. Being Potions partners was fine. Friends, he'd learnt a couple of years ago, were much more dangerous. So he was civil, and he reined in his sardonicism a little around her, but no more than that. He didn't want her getting the wrong idea.

Apparently, though, it was too late for that.

They were in the library when it happened, poring over textbooks. They'd taken, fairly recently, to writing their Potions essays together, and that was what they were doing. It was a good arrangement for both of them; they could swap ideas and share useful references, discuss which sources were worthwhile and which had been written from second-hand anecdotes. She got the benefit of his more focused studies, and he gained from her more diffuse knowledge of magical history and spells in general. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and he had never considered it to be much more than that; an opportunity to work in peace with an intellectual equal.

The peace, though, was shattered when she looked up from her heavy volume on poisons and curses and said, out of the blue, "Why do you never go home in the holidays?"

He froze. A large drop of ink dripped from the end of his trembling quill, leaving a slowly growing spot of black on the parchment, but he didn't even notice. Something had caught in the turning mechanisms of his mind, and for a moment he couldn't even summon up sarcasm, just stare at her. It wasn't the first time somebody had asked him that, of course, but that wasn't the point. The point was, _she_ was asking him.

"It's none of your business," he said at last, his voice flat and very slightly strangled, and turned back to his work, dabbing at the spilt ink with his sleeve. That was the last thing he wanted to talk about so close to the holidays – especially this year. The spectre of summer was still too strong for him to want to think about, and even if she didn't know how painful a thought it was to him, what on earth made her think she had any right to stick her nose into his personal life like that? Even if she thought they were friends, it was still out of line. He tried to get back to work, but it was hard to concentrate; he hated to admit it, but he was thrown.

"I know it's not." She'd abandoned her own work, laying her quill down next to her parchment, and was looking at him intently with her chin in her hand. "I just... it isn't because you want to, is it? I mean, you don't just like Hogwarts that much?"

"Why are you asking?" His voice was clipped, sharp, and not a little bitter. Didn't she know well enough to just drop the subject? If it had been anyone else, he would simply have stood up, made some appropriately pithy remark, and left – but with Laura, it was hard to do that, particularly knowing how he had missed her company before. So, instead, he sat there, ramrod-straight and perfectly still, and tried to make it clear, as civilly as possible, that she should move on.

Instead, she shifted slightly, her hands moving into her lap, and looked away. "I... was wondering if you wanted to spend Christmas with me."

If the first question had been a shock, it was nothing to this. His first thought – which persisted quite strongly – was that she must be joking, or setting him up. But why? Who'd put her up to it? What would she stand to gain? It didn't hold up. So what could this possibly be about?

And why was there a part of him that wanted to say yes?

"Why?" he asked, carefully. He could deal with that first; the rest would follow.

"Because I like spending time with you." She sounded frank enough, so open that even he had trouble believing it was a lie. "And nobody should be on their own at Christmas. Please? I know my parents would love to meet you."

"...I'll have to think about it," he managed, pushing his chair back sharply, and gathered his things together. It wasn't as if he was going to get any work done like this, after all. "I'll let you know." And he hurried off, before he could make himself look at the hurt expression on her face.

Truth be told, he wasn't planning to think about it at all. That had been an excuse, something to give him time before he refused. But the thought of it invaded his mind, seeping in at the edges, and that part of him which had wanted to agree grew bigger. Part of it was the promise of the sort of Christmas other people had, the sort he'd seen at the Evans' house when he was younger. Besides that, though...

She liked spending time with him. That couldn't be said of many people. And, even more impressively, _he_ liked spending time with _her_. It wasn't quite like being around Lily, but there was something close; it was good to have some kind of intellectual parity, good to be able to discuss what he knew about and not be asked (usually) about the things he hated to talk about, good to have a fr—

No. Not a friend. He'd learnt his lesson about them. Even if he might admit that he didn't entirely hate the idea that she thought of him as a friend, that didn't mean he had to accept her as one. Friends were an added danger in a world that was already dangerous enough, and he could do without them just fine.

But would it hurt that much to spend just a few weeks at her house?

It might, now that he thought about it. Not just hurt him, either, but her, too. All it would take was a word of it getting out to his allies in Slytherin – or, worse, to the other followers of the Dark Lord – just a breath of the fact that he was fraternising so obviously with a Mudblood, and they could both find themselves in a world of trouble. It would be stupid. Unfair. Dangerous. He couldn't possibly agree to it; he had to protect her, and, even more importantly, he had to protect himself. He'd spent far too long building up the connections he needed to jeopardise it all over something as stupid as a Christmas holiday with someone who might or might not be his friend.

And yet, somehow, when term finished and the Hogwarts Express arrived to take the students back to London, he found himself standing there, with his battered old trunk at his feet, waiting.

It was stupid. It was foolhardy. It would undoubtedly come back to bite him. But just this once, he was willing to sacrifice sense for the sake of something as simple and pathetic as a Christmas among friends.


	10. In The Bleak Midwinter

__**10 - In The Bleak Midwinter**

_In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan  
><em>_Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone  
><em>_Snow had fallen; snow on snow, snow on snow;  
><em>_In the bleak midwinter, long ago._

...*...

Her house was unfamiliar, and her family too welcoming for him to help suspecting some kind of trap. It reminded him of the Evanses, in a way, but in another way, it was completely different. For one thing, they were clearly a lot better off than anyone in Spinner's End; in fact, he decided after some thought, that was the most nervewracking part of it all. He wasn't unused to wealth, as he had been before Hogwarts, but while he might count many of the richer Slytherins as allies and - at least aloud – as friends, he had no illusions that either they or their families did any more than put up with him on sufferance. The Baines family, on the other hand, seemed genuinely glad he was there, and it threw him off-balance entirely. It was a rather nasty thought to entertain, but the more he thought about it, the more it occurred to him – this was the only place he had ever been where everyone at least _pretended_ to like him.

They set him up a bed on the spare room, a large, comfortable room into which he could probably have fitted his room at Spinner's End three or four times over. They told him to make himself at home, to take any books he might want off the shelves, to feel free to take any food he wanted out of the kitchen. They told him to just relax, and, to his own horror, he did.

At the same time, though, he couldn't help but suspect a trap. Nobody could be that relaxed about some stranger in their house, especially not when the stranger was Severus Snape, and nobody could really be that eager to help, to accept him as anything but an intruder. Something had to be wrong here. His instincts, honed by all those years of watching his own back so keenly, cried out sharply against the sudden removal of all threats, because life wasn't that simple. It never was. He could pretend all he wanted, but in the end, he knew what people were like, and they weren't like this. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that altruism wasn't, and never had been, a part of the human condition.

And yet. And yet, he raised no protest. He let himself pretend. It was too late to go back now, so he simply let himself pretend that he believed it, that he had faith, that he never doubted how genuine they were or what they might want in return. He let himself pretend, and sank back into inaction, as if the pretence that they were honest and altruistic might become fact if he let it. Childish, yes. Naive, yes. But there seemed to be little choice, and it felt good, if only for a little while, to pretend to himself that he was as naive as so much of the world seemed to be.

Besides, he'd committed himself. He was going to regret coming here, and he knew it, but for the time being, all he could do was try to enjoy it.

That was an alien thought. Usually, when he committed himself to something, it was for a reason, and he could focus on that reason, that purpose, and not worry about anything else. Here, though, he didn't know why he'd come. He had no purpose. His job, as Laura and her parents went on telling him, was to relax and have fun, and, he had to admit it at least to himself, that wasn't something he knew how to do. So he was quiet, and withdrawn, and, if anything, sharper even than he was at school, already fed up with the curious isolation of being included.

By Christmas Eve, when it finally became a topic of conversation, he felt like screaming. Outside, it was dark, and the sky was tinged orange by the streetlights; snow fell, but didn't settle; cars passed and partygoers straggled, singing, by the window, just like they had outside the little house on Spinner's End. The words they sang filtered in through the sitting room window: _In the bleak midwinter, frosty winds made moan..._

Inside, the lights were lit, the gas fire burning blue in the fireplace, the record player in the next room playing Christmas songs. It felt too good to be true. Uncomfortably carefree, uncomfortably merry. Laura sat down beside him on the sofa, two knitted stockings on her lap, and looked at him.

"I usually put my stocking up after dinner. Over the fireplace, there. Do you want to put yours there, too, or shall we move them somewhere else?"

"You got me a stocking." His voice was very flat, disguising any emotion he might have had. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what emotion that even was; that was most disorienting of all, the way this place made his emotions unmanageably indiscriminate.

"Well, my mum got you a stocking," Laura corrected, with a little smile. "It would hardly be fair if you didn't have one."

He was quiet for a long moment, his bony jaw shifting slightly, his lips pressed together until they almost disappeared. "Baines," he said, at last, "I don't think _fair_ is an issue here. I'm already in your house, where I am eating your food, using your fuel, and so on. Not that I object to any of it, of course. But what's all this in aid of?"

Her eyebrows drew together. "Is that what all this is about?" she asked, slowly, chewing on her lip.

"All _what_?" A little snappish, perhaps, but he didn't much care. "And about what?"

Laura looked at him, clearly hurt, but he couldn't help thinking she looked a little angry, too. Her fingers clenched a little on the stockings in her lap.

"You've been miserable, that's what." Yes, she was definitely angry, in her quiet, level-headed kind of way. "Miserable, and incredibly miserable to be around. Skulking around as if we've personally insulted you somehow. I didn't think you would be the merriest person in the world, but you're even worse than I was expecting." She took a deep breath, brushing a loose hair back behind her ear, and her voice was a little calmer now. "Listen, Severus... it isn't in aid of anything, all right? It's only that we want you here. That's all. I thought you understood that. We enjoy having you here. _I_ enjoy having you here."

Her hand touched his, a gentle brush of her fingers against his. He stiffened reflexively, his eyes drawn down to their hands, then back up to her face. For a moment, he sat there, very still, barely breathing, wanting to believe her, wishing that her touch didn't still make him tense and bitter.

At last, he pulled his hand away and turned his head, not wanting to look at her any more. "I don't like Christmas much. That's all." It was very flat. "And I don't think you or your parents should be wasting money on me. It isn't as though I got you anything." He'd considered it, but he hadn't been able to afford anything she wouldn't already have, and have better.

She was looking at him oddly. "Severus. Have you ever actually celebrated Christmas? I mean, properly?"

"Of course I have!" It came out sounding defensive; he couldn't help it. And, well, it was true, wasn't it? He might never have celebrated Christmas quite like this, with trees and stockings and decorations everywhere, because those took money and time - and festive spirit, which was admittedly lacking throughout his family – but his mother had made an effort when he was younger, at least, and there'd always been a present to open on Christmas Day. He just hadn't cared too much for it, or been naive enough to think that Christmas made any difference to who people were. It was just another way to pretend everything was good, that parents loved their children and presents made up for anything else that had ever happened. It was childish, and even as a child, he'd hated it. But they'd celebrated it, hadn't they? They'd played the Queen's speech on the radio, opened presents, even had a turkey once or twice. They might not have celebrated it how Laura did, but as far as Severus was concerned, they'd celebrated it as properly as possible.

She didn't seem convinced by it, though; the scathing look she continued to give him said as much. Still, she didn't argue back, which he supposed counted as a small victory. Instead, she stood up, holding out one of the stockings to him, and looked at him with a little sigh. "At least pretend you're enjoying it, Severus. Please. My parents will get upset if they think they're ruining your Christmas."

He didn't hide the roll of his eyes but he did stand up, taking the stocking out of her hand. "If you insist."

That night, he lay awake for a long time. The fire still flickered away, warm and comforting. Outside, someone was singing carols, loudly and drunkenly. Severus lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and thought.

He hated to admit it, but maybe she was right about him. That seemed to be the case an awful lot of the time lately, and it made him more than a little uncomfortable... still, he had to accept the facts as they were laid in front of him. Perhaps she was right about him. He didn't think she was right about Christmas – it was just another day, after all, and to hold it in such sacred regard seemed like the most infantile thing possible, notwithstanding its popularity – but perhaps she was right about him. About _his_ Christmases. Maybe he never had celebrated them properly.

Lying there on the too-soft bed in someone else's room, he thought of the tree downstairs, and the presents under it, and tried to imagine what it would have been like to have that when he was still young enough and stupid enough to believe that there could be a Santa Claus, or a Jesus, or a day in the year where people were good. When he might still have believed that Christmas was anything but a flimsy excuse for the failures of the year. He didn't understand what made this all so significant to people, but might he have? Might he still?

That was a stupid thought, he told himself, and rolled onto his side as if the pillow would muffle his own thoughts into nothingness. But a new thought was forming in his mind, one which refused to be shaken.

He didn't understand what made this all so significant to people, but he knew it was significant. It was significant to Laura. It had been significant to Lily. And they were significant to him – much more than he cared to admit even to himself. They mattered, and this mattered to them, so didn't that mean it must matter?

_Something of a logical leap there, don't you think?_ he scolded himself, but the thought was lodged in his head, and although he tried to sleep, it pulsed there, keeping him awake until, at last, he sat up, wondering what on earth he was doing, and pushed the blankets aside. He didn't know his way around the house too well, but he'd seen the box of wrapping paper in the cupboard under the stairs, and that was all he needed. It was a quick operation, performed in silence – he didn't want to wake anybody up, after all – but for all that it seemed like a little thing, when it was done, he slept at last, soundly and almost contentedly.

He overslept the next morning; a rare occurrence to say the least, and was woken by Laura shaking his shoulder lightly. "Severus?"

Shooting upright, he cleared his throat sharply and ran a hand back through his greasy hair, looking over at her. Outside, the watery light of dawn was starting to diffuse across the sky, which, this late in the year, meant he must have overslept by several hours. "What time is it?"

"Eight forty-seven." A prompt, accurate response; it was good to know that some things didn't change.

"And you didn't wake me earlier?"

"It's Christmas morning. I thought you deserved the lie-in." She smiled, pulling her hair back into a ponytail with one hand. "My parents are up, if you want to come and open your stocking."

"Give me a moment," he said, a little tautly, sitting up. "I... let me get dressed, all right?"

She laughed, stepping back away from the bed. "We'll be waiting for you in the sitting room. But, really, it's all right if you want to come down in your pyjamas. It's Christmas, after all."

"Let me get dressed," he repeated, a little more firmly, but he did managed to summon up a smile for her – and, despite himself, he _was_ almost tempted to go downstairs in his pyjamas, if only to test how genuine an offer it had been. In the end, though, he got dressed in the most neutral, Muggle clothes he had left after last summer – a plain black shirt and trousers – and headed downstairs, even taking the time to tie back his own hair. In its own way, that was a signal of trust; he kept his hair long as something to hide behind, but he'd decided last night that he wouldn't hide any more this holiday.

Laura must have told her parents what to get him – or got it herself – because what was in his stocking was a shockingly good surprise; from books and a new quill to a pair of gloves to replace the hole-filled ones he'd been wearing since third year. He couldn't help but be flattered; it was hard to doubt that they wanted him here, when they'd gone to so much effort. That cynical part of his mind still cried out in protest, but he could silence it, and his thanks were genuine.

It wasn't long after that, though, that Laura spotted _it_, and Severus' heart went back into his mouth. He was suddenly and absolutely sure that he'd done something terribly wrong, made a huge mistake.

"I thought you said you didn't get me anything, Severus," she said, her voice light, but curious, and she glanced at her parents.

"Oh, go on." Mrs Baines was smiling, clearly enjoying every moment of this whole charade, Severus thought a little better. "One present before lunch won't hurt."

Laura grinned – actually _grinned_ – and reached over to pick up the present, rather messily wrapped in gold paper, from under the tree. Unsurprisingly, she was meticulously neat in unwrapping it, taking great care not to rip the paper or even crumple it, but there was urgent excitement in her face, her movements. When the paper was actually pulled away, though, she sat there for a long moment, just staring down at the book for a long, long moment. It was a long time before she even opened the front cover of the Potions textbook, to look down at the little crossed-out frontispiece; _This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince._

Beneath it: _Merry Christmas, Laura. Severus._

For a moment, there was a hushed, expectant silent. Severus' heart sank like a stone, more certain than ever that he'd got this completely wrong, and he looked away, back to the all-too-good pile of presents she and her parents had given him, awkward and embarrassed. He'd done it wrong. Of course he had. He didn't know how, but he'd got it wro—

"Severus?" Her voice was quiet, muted. With a little sigh, he turned his head back to look at her.

And her lips pressed against his, so suddenly and without warning that he couldn't flinch away. Somehow, he didn't want to.

...*...

_What can I give him, poor as I am?  
><em>_If I were a shepherd, I would give a lamb;  
><em>_If I were a wise man, I would do my part;  
><em>_Yet what can I give him? Give him my heart._


	11. That Feeling

**A/N:** I feel like I should apologise for the long update time. It's a shame, because I was doing _so well_ at keeping up a standard of efficiency with this one, but the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley, and between illnesses, exams, and general periods of meh, I haven't been finding the time to fic much lately. Please accept this ridiculously angsty chapter in apology.  
>Chapter title shamelessly ripped off from Stephen King's short story of the same name.<p>

**11 - That Feeling, You Can Only Say What It Is In French**

"Why?"

He was sitting on the bed in the guest room, where he'd – there was no other way of putting it – _fled_ after she'd... done that. Laura stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. He didn't look at her, because to look at her would be to recognise not only that she was here and that this was happening, but that his reaction was hurting her. He didn't need to be reminded that his reaction was hurting her, not when it was hurting him as well.

"Severus, I just—"

"_Why_?" he repeated, harshly, fists clenching and unclenching in his lap, but he thought he knew. _That_ was the trap. He'd known there was a trap in all this, somewhere, he'd known it was too good to be true. But he'd fallen for it anyway, let himself be lulled into a sense of security, and of course that was exactly the point of all this. "Don't lie, don't try to appeal to me, don't do any of that, just tell me _why_. Did Potter put you up to this? Trying to get me away from Evans, maybe?" The part of his brain that still retained some kind of sanity whispered to him that he was being stupid, irrational, this wasn't Potter's style at all and nor did the motive fit the execution. Unfortunately for all concerned, that part of his brain was currently being drowned out by the waves of hurt and resentment and anger which continued to crash against his mind, knocking aside all the barriers of willpower and self-preservation. The worst part was, he _knew_. He _knew_ he was being stupid and irrational and breaking down all his chances and letting his heart rule his head, which was always exactly the worst thing to do, he _knew_ that by acting this way he was lowering himself to the level of Potter and Black and their fellow Neanderthals in Gryffindor, he _knew_ all that but he couldn't _stop_.

She was starting to protest, in slow motion, that she hadn't... she wouldn't... how could he even _think_ she'd... and with _Potter_... He couldn't hear her over the rush of blood in his ears, but he knew that would be what she would be saying, and he couldn't bear it any more. He was used to anger, and to fear, and to sadness and even to loss, but this profound feeling of _betrayal_ was one he'd only felt once before, and it cut him to the quick.

Pushing himself to his feet, he reached for his suitcase, grateful to himself for having kept it packed all the time he'd been here, and slammed it shut. "Well, you can tell him from me he doesn't need to play his stupid games any more, and tell her too, tell her I'm not as pathetic as they make out, and I don't need trickery or traps or lies to stay away, because I don't want _her_ and I don't want _you_ and I don't want any bloody _Mudblood_!"

He pushed past her, out of the door and down the stairs with his shoulders tensed and his knuckles yellow-white and his back ramrod-straight, and if she called after him or shouted or cried – if she reacted at all – he didn't hear. He just stalked down the stairs and along the hallway and out of the door, past her parents, whose mouths hung slackly and stupidly open, past the living room where everything had gone so wrong, and out into the heavy grey clouds of Christmas morning.

He didn't cry. Part of him wanted to, and there was a lump in his throat which stubbornly refused to be dislodged, but he didn't cry. Crying was stupid. Crying was _weak_, and he had exposed far too much weakness already today. Crying would change nothing, nor would it let him go back there, so he didn't cry. Instead, he tightened his grip on his light, battered suitcase, reached back with his free hand to untie his hair, and went on walking. It was cold outside, but the snow which had been lazily drifting down the night before was gone, as if it had never been, leaving only a few puddles on the tarmac. Although his coat still hung in the Baineses' porch, and although he was starting to shiver, he didn't move to cast any charms to warm himself up. Being cold felt curiously apt; he _felt_ cold. Numb. It was easier than letting himself feel hurt.

It wasn't the first time he'd walked out, he reminded himself, and tried not to think that it hurt more to leave a house he'd been in for under a week than it had to leave the house he'd been born in. The point was, he only had to keep going until he could get back to Hogwarts. He'd done it before, and he'd do it again.

Somehow. Without food, without money, without a home, and in the middle of December. The rational part of his brain spoke up again, telling him this was insane, that he should go back and apologise and ask them, _beg_ them, to let him stay there until the end of the holidays. The chances that they would were slim, of course, but they were better than no chance at all. But the wall which rose to counter that rational voice was stronger and more familiar than the crashing wave of emotion which had done the job before, and the name of the wall was _Pride_. He couldn't go back. Not now. You could never go home again.

In the end, he found himself sitting on a park bench, his suitcase between his feet and his head slumped low so that the slick fall of his hair cancelled out most of the world. He couldn't keep walking, he couldn't go back, and any sense of drama and purpose which might have slithered into his mind would have found it hard to withstand the sickening reality; he was sitting in the middle of nowhere, in a Muggle town he didn't know, with all his worldly possessions in a suitcase at his feet, and the puddles of rainwater on the bench were starting to seep through the seat of his unfamiliarly Muggle trousers.

And it had _all happened before_.

He still didn't cry. It was tempting, but he ignored the sting of his eyes and the tightness of his throat, and he kept his eyes fixedly on the yellowing, trodden-down grass under his feet. He hadn't cried then, and he wouldn't cry now, because that was what children did, and adults who were pretending to be children to escape what they'd done. He had nobody to blame but himself, not for any of this, and he refused to be blamed. He refused to be blamed because he had done everything _right_, he knew he had, and in the end, that must be true, because he was alive, and he was sane, and he was strong. Too strong to fall for whatever the motive was behind all this. Too clever. He should have listened to his gut instinct in the first place, the one that told him alone was always best and you should never, never trust. It might hurt, oh, Merlin, it _did_ hurt sometimes, but _survival_ hurt, and that was what was important; survival, and power, and pride, and...

...And so on, over and over, retreading the same mental pathways and getting nowhere. The sick, hurt feeling in the pit of his stomach stayed right where it was, he continued to shiver, the raw wind continued to blow. Only the light shifting let him know that time was passing at all, and how much time it was, he couldn't have begun to guess.

Until, at last, something happened, and took him so off-guard that, when he saw her shoes out of the corner of his eye, he recoiled violently enough that he bruised his arm against the iron frame of the bench.

She'd been crying, he saw at once, when he regained his composure enough to actually look at her, but she wasn't crying any more. Now, although her face was pale and her eyes pink, she had a grim kind of determination to her, like a condemned prisoner or a messenger sent to deliver bad news to a particularly unctious monarch. Whatever she was about to say, he didn't imagine either of them would enjoy, so he braced himself against it, turning his face away again and trying to ignore the shame threatening to sneak into his mind.

"Mum and Dad just put the turkey out," she said, quietly. "You should come back and eat it, or it'll get cold."

It was so far from what he'd expected that he almost flinched. Then, slowly, he stood up, heavy eyebrows drawing together. "Why in Salazar's name are you _doing_ this?" he asked, but this time, it wasn't angry. He would never have admitted it, but it was more distressed than angry, and came out with an embarrassing hint of a whine to it. "You should be glad to see the back of me."

"Yes, I should," Laura agreed, her voice flat and almost angry. "I should, but I don't. And I _should_ have let you spend Christmas at school, and you _should_ have been happy not to give me anything, and I should _not_ have kissed you, but, Severus, perhaps if you spent less time thinking about what _should_ happen and more about what _does_, you would be both a better wizard and a better friend."

He managed to stop himself from gaping like an idiot, but only barely.

"Part of me really, really wants to let you walk away and never come back." She wasn't done. The tone of her voice said she wasn't even _nearly_ done. "That part of me also kind of hopes that after you walk away, you get lost in the snow and never come back to Hogwarts, either. You really hurt me. _Again_." Her voice was starting to shake a little. "But I'm not like that, Severus. Maybe you think you should push everyone away from you, but I know you better than that, and I think you do, as well. And I refuse to let you keep doing it, understood? I refuse to let you walk away from me like you walk away from everyone else. Like you walked away from _her_." She was breathing heavily, the colour returning to her face now, her eyes shiny with tears which he would _not_ acknowledge, he would _not_ fall for this obvious emotional manipulation, and he _certainly_ wouldn't allow himself to be goaded by the fact that she'd mentioned Lily, because...

"You don't know me." His voice cracked slightly, and he tightened his jaw against it, picking up his suitcase. He could walk away. He _would _ walk away. This settled it; she wasn't safe, and she'd said herself that she should be glad to see the back of him. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know that you ran away." Her voice was quiet, but sharp, and even as he turned away, it pulled him up short.

He turned, slowly, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. "_What_?"

The look on her face suggested that not only had she not meant to blurt that out, but she was sincerely regretting it now. She looked as surprised by it as he was, and about as pleased. She also looked just a little scared by him, drawn up as he was to his full, fairly considerable height and with anger and shock fighting for precedence on his face.

"I know that you ran away," she repeated, a little less certainly, but she met his eyes. "In the summer. And I think I know why." She swallowed, but didn't quail or turn away as he was ferociously wishing she would. "Severus, I just want to help you. Please. Come home with me."

And, slowly, angry and shocked and not knowing what compelled him or how it could possibly be so much stronger than his pride and fear, he did.


	12. Living & Surviving

**12 - Surviving & Living**

Laura spent most of the next week wishing, almost constantly, that she hadn't said that. True, it had brought him up short, and stopped him running off to Rowena only knew where, but since Christmas afternoon, Severus was...

She didn't want to say 'different', because that wasn't true. He was exactly the same as he had always been, but where she had been starting to feel like she was inside his circle of confidence, now she was shut out again, as firmly and clearly as if he'd slammed a door in her face. He was coldly, sarcastically polite towards her and her parents, and the warmth which she'd briefly felt from him – the boy who'd given her the book – was gone, shut down behind a wall of expressionless black eyes and greasy dark hair.

Severus wasn't _different_. Severus had _gone_. Snape was still there, but her friend wasn't.

She wondered whether this was how Lily had felt.

In the end, that was the thought which picked her back up. She liked Lily well enough, and she could sympathise with the Gryffindor girl's wish to distance herself from Snape, but that didn't mean she was blind to how deeply that whole incident had hurt Severus. If she let the same thing happen again with her, let him close himself off more than ever, she had a nasty feeling that it would end badly. That he might never recover.

Severus might be abrasive, might occasionally be downright mean-spirited and cruel, but she respected him as a wizard and she cared for him as a friend (she refused to think about the corollary to that; about the kiss. It could wait). In all good conscience, she couldn't let him damage himself like that. He was broken enough already.

He'd been keeping to the guest room as much as possible ever since he'd left the table brusquely after Christmas dinner. He ventured out for meals, when her parents asked him to, but other than that, she didn't think she'd seen him out of the room, and she held back from going in, conscious of his need for privacy. Now, though, she pulled herself together and reminded herself firmly that it was _her_ house and she had every right to go wherever she wanted in it, and she knocked sharply on his bedroom door.

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. She counted silently to twenty, then knocked again. Again, no answer. She was just raising her fist to knock a third time when the door jerked open, and Snape looked down at her. His black eyes were as unreadable as ever, but the dark circles under them gave a lot away – probably more than he would have liked.

"Can I help you?" he asked coolly, arching one eyebrow, and looked up at the clock briefly, as if to check that she wasn't just here to call him for lunch.

"We have to talk, Severus." She met his eyes for a moment with equal intensity, then brushed past him to take up a seat on the windowsill just inside the room. There was something sad about the sterile neatness he'd managed to bring to a room which normally felt comfortable and homely; the neatly-made bed, the pyjamas folded crisply on the pillow, everything else of his packed away in his battered trunk and tucked under the bed. The only sign that anyone was staying there was the half-finished book of curses on the desk.

He closed the door silently, stalking over to the desk chair and sitting down with his fingers steepled. His hair still hung in a greasy curtain across his face, and his feet were bare.

"I don't think we do, you know. Silence is completely survivable to most people. Even Gryffindors can manage it, if they really put their minds to it."

Part of her flinched at the frigid sarcasm of his tone, but she reminded herself firmly that he talked like that at the best of times, and she ploughed on. "Maybe. But we still have to talk. This is not healthy, Severus. For either of us."

"Neither was agreeing to come here, but I didn't hear you objecting to that."

She hesitated for a moment, not entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, but settled for filing the thought away for future analysis. _Focus on the problem in hand, Laura_. Which was already difficult enough, since she didn't know where to start on the problem at hand, frighteningly aware that one misstep could make everything worse than ever. If she let him get away with being closed off, she had no hope of helping him; if, on the other hand, she went straight for the jugular, she suspected he would go from ambivalence to straight-out hatred of her, and she wasn't sure she could stand that. And, whatever she did, she needed to sound confident about it, because Severus didn't respond to uncertainty at all well. And that meant she couldn't hesitate, which meant she didn't have time to think about it.

Merlin, this was going to be _hard_.

He was looking at her with something halfway between expectancy and disdain, and it hurt more than she'd expected. Closing her eyes for a second, she took a deep breath and decided, just this once, it might be necessary to bypass thinking altogether and just say something. Anything. Anything to fill the silence and break that awful look in his eyes.

"I care about you, Severus." She didn't look up at him, fixing her eyes downwards instead, and forced herself to stop _thinking_ about what she was saying – a difficult task for a Ravenclaw. "I care about you a _lot_. I have a lot of people who I am friends with, but, I don't know, I don't think I have many real _friends_, people I absolutely trust and care about. And when those friends are hurt, I can't make myself stop caring, even if they want me to." She risked a glance up at him, but his face might as well have been carved out of stone for all the emotion it gave away. Laura sighed quietly and forced herself to go on, because she thought the only thing worse than going on at this point would be stopping there. "You're my friend, and I really admire you, too. You have a sharper mind than most Ravenclaws, including me, and you're braver than a lot of people give you credit for, and you're one of the strongest people I know. But you can't... I mean, it doesn't matter how strong you are, you can't expect to get through life without support, not really. It's like you were saying about talking. We can survive without it, but that doesn't mean we don't need to do it. And I want you to be able to smile more." Despite herself, and with some degree of scorn for how much like a silly schoolgirl she was acting, she found herself blushing. "You're actually kind of good-looking when you smile." Damn, she shouldn't have said that. Clearing her throat, she moved on as quickly as she could. "I won't do anything you don't want me to, I promise. And I swear I won't tell anyone about what happened over the summer. But..."

"You still haven't explained how you know that," he cut across her, his voice rougher than usual, and sharper. Looking up again, she saw that he had tensed more than ever, his spine ramrod-straight, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I'm a Ravenclaw," she reminded him gently, with a smile she didn't feel. "I deduce."

He didn't look satisfied by the answer, but he motioned for her to continue, then fell back into stillness.

It took her a moment to pick up where she'd left off; his obvious tension unnerved her. But, at last, she managed to grasp the thread of what she'd been saying again. "I won't tell anyone about it, if you don't want me to, but I just... Correct me if I'm wrong, but I doubt you've told anyone, and I'm convinced that if anyone brought it up, you would snap at them just like you did at me. But you know that I know about it, and I promise, Severus, all I want to do is to help you. You're strong. I know you're strong, and I know you'll survive this on your own, but I don't want you only surviving. I want you to be happy. I know it's hard for you to believe that I don't want something more than that, but I really do only want you to be happy. And if you'll be happier away from me, then I'll just have to live with that, but I want you to think long and hard first, because I know you know how to survive but I don't think you know how to be happy and if you stop being friends with me I want it to be for a good reason." The last sentence came out in a bit of a rush, and the silence that followed it was the loudest she'd ever heard. "I... that's all."

The silence which followed stretched on and on, and a glance at the clock confirmed that it wasn't just her imagination; for nearly three minutes, he didn't speak, and she barely dared to breathe for fear of interrupting whatever was going on in his head.

At last, so quietly it was almost drowned out by the cars outside, he said "You're doing a lot of guessing."

"I'm doing a lot of _thinking_," she corrected him, and for the first time since coming into the room, she met his eyes. She didn't intend the note of challenge in her voice, but it sneaked in anyway. "Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."

The silence stretched out just long enough to confirm her suspicions.

"That's what I thought." Her voice softened again, and she sighed. "Please, Severus. You don't have to like what I'm saying, but please, just believe I'm being honest."

He sounded as though he was struggling with himself. "I believe you."

"And you'll think about letting me help you? I mean, not _help_ you, but... you'll think about your happiness before you cut me off completely?"

"I'll try." It was cagy, non-committal, but she hadn't dared to expect even that much.

"I can't ask for more than that," she said, offering him a little smile as she stood up and started back towards the door. She wasn't looking at him, on the basis that he probably wanted to be left well alone for the time being, so when his bony white hand reached out to touch her arm, she jumped, taken completely by surprise. Her heart was hammering from the shock even as she turned to look at him.

He looked back up at her, his dark eyes meeting hers, and she found she had trouble looking away. Or maybe she didn't actually want to. For a moment, they stayed there, frozen in tableau, until at last his hand shifted off her sleeve, back onto his lap.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, after another moment had passed.

She wet her lips with her tongue. "I told you. You're my friend."

The noise he made was definitely one of frustration. "I need an answer, not a tautology," he replied, that scathing edge back in his voice. "Merlin knows I've never tried to be a friend to you. So why should you care?"

It was a surprisingly good question, and one she didn't immediately have an answer for. Thrown off-balance by it, she opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, frowning slightly. His eyebrow rose. And the answer came to her.

"Because," she said, slowly, "you understand me better than almost anyone. The experiments, I mean. I don't know anybody else who understands experimenting in the way that you do. You're cleverer than me. And because... can I be honest?"

"Honesty's all you've got in your favour right now, I'd recommend keeping it up."

She almost smiled at that. That was her Severus, all right. And that was exactly it. "Because you need me to care."

He balked, his heavy eyebrows beetling together.

"You do," she insisted, before he could protest. "You said to be honest, and I am being. I need you, too, because you really are the cleverest person I know, and so it isn't as though I'm friends with you out of some kind of misguided charity. But you need me to care, even if you don't want me to. So I care."

This silence wasn't as long as the others, but only because, when he didn't respond, she turned away again, heading for the door and out of what was, frankly, a painfully awkward situation. Her hand was on the door when he spoke.

"Laura?"

"Severus," she responded, carefully, without turning around.

He sounded hesitant, baffled, and almost laughably _teenaged_; it was so un-Severus that despite her embarrassment, she couldn't help laughing. "...Did you say you thought I was good-looking?"


	13. A Cage Of Mine Own Devising

**13 - A Cage Of Mine Own Devising**

Severus didn't pick up his book after she'd gone. He just sat there, hands clasped in his lap, for a long time. Eventually he stood up and headed towards the door, then turned away again and set to pacing like a caged animal.

The terrifying part was that she hadn't been lying. He'd really, really wanted her to be lying. When he'd met her eyes and reached out into her mind, he'd hoped – and _expected_ – to feel, before anything else, the familiar twang of dishonesty. He'd expected only to reach out for a second, long enough to confirm that she was lying, so that he could shrug it off and finally convince himself to leave.

But she hadn't been lying. Even when he'd gone deeper into her mind than he'd wanted to, as deep as he could when she was so tense and he hadn't spoken the incantation, there'd been nothing there but concern for him. She was worried for him, just like she'd said. She wanted him to be happy, just like she'd said.

Merlin, why couldn't she be a liar?

He went on pacing to and fro across the room, his lips pressed together until they were white, his fists clenched at his sides. Why had he come here? Why had he listened to her, even for a moment? He knew this couldn't end well, had _always_ known it couldn't end well, but he'd come here anyway and he hadn't left when he'd had the chance. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She was a Mudblood.

She was his friend.

She wasn't Lily.

She cared about him.

She wasn't a liar.

She'd said he was good-looking when he smiled.

She _wasn't a liar_.

He cursed under his breath, slapping the flat of his hand violently against the wall, and stood there as if Petrified for a moment before wheeling away. This time, when he reached for the door, he didn't turn away, although there was a sick churning in his stomach and an odd kind of panic starting up in his head.

He found her in her own room, where she was leafing through the textbook he had given her. Even from the doorway, he could tell she wasn't really reading it, but he had to struggle against the urge to use it as an excuse; to tell himself she was busy and shouldn't be disturbed. Instead, his hands deep in his pockets and his back straighter than ever, he cleared his throat. She jumped, her head whipping around to look at him, and without waiting for further invitation, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, they regarded one another warily, neither of them sure how to proceed. It was cold comfort, though, to know that she was as lost as him; he found he would almost have appreciated her leadership in something as foreign as this.

She cracked first; putting the book to one side, she turned her chair to face him, bringing one knee up to her chest. "You can, um... you can sit down, if you like." And she gestured to her large bed, neatly-made a few feet away.

He approached it with as much caution as he might a hungry Hippogriff, and perched awkwardly on the edge of it, trying not to disturb the sheets too much. Again, the silence stretched out a moment too long, but this time he took it upon himself to break it.

"I'm sorry." He thought the words would be easier to force out this time, the apology easier to make when it wasn't the first in years, but if anything, it was harder. It constricted his chest and strangled in his throat; it wove through the protective walls around his mind; it came out thin and almost childish, and he was suddenly aware of the ridiculous, infantile need to cry. It didn't help that Laura was looking at him not with pity, but with sympathy and a touch of bafflement, clearly not sure what he was apologising for. At least she didn't say anything. He wasn't sure he could handle her saying anything.

It took him a moment before he completely stifled that stupid urge to cry, before he trusted himself to go on. "I'm s..." he began again, but it still stuck in his craw and, really, he didn't need to say it again. "I should have believed you. Before. When you said it wasn't a trap."

"Sev-..." she started, but he shook his head, putting a bony finger up against his lips.

"I'm not done," he said, and was surprised and gratified at how firm his voice sounded. "Listen. That isn't what I'm apologising for." His thumbnail dug into the webbing of the other hand; part of him wanted to turn and make a break for it. "I'm apologising because you said you need me around, and, Laura, I can't be around any more. We can't be friends any longer."

The effect on her was immediate. The analytical, logical part of him took note of the changes - the way her hands fell limply from her lap, the slight opening of her mouth; the sagging of her posture – even as guilt clawed at the pit of his stomach. Her voice was quiet, and dejected rather than surprised. "What?"

"You heard me." It came out harsher than he'd meant it to, largely because that damn lump in his throat was back, and he wanted to get out of there. Preferably to get out of there with her angry, not upset, because both were hideous but anger was a thousand times easier to deal with.

Unfortunately, Laura wasn't that easily led by her emotions. It was one of the things they held in common, and right now he resented it worse than anything else. That brittle, stubbornly angry note entered her voice again, and she moved as if to stand up. "You owe me an explanation," she informed him, and it was hard to tell whether the little shake in her voice was from anger or hurt. Probably anger, he thought without triumph. "I poured my heart out to you back there. If you're too scared to stay friends with me afterwards, then that's your problem, but at least be bloody _honest_ with me about it." Was that the first time he'd heard her swear? He certainly couldn't think of another.

"That isn't it." _Mostly_. He looked up, forcing himself to meet her eyes and not to look away when he saw the tears shining in them.

She hesitated for a moment, then took a couple of steps and sat down next to him on the bed. For a moment, she was quiet, and the logical thing to do would have been to stand up himself and make good his escape. She probably wasn't capable of stopping him, and Merlin knew he couldn't stay around here forever. It was making him sick to his stomach, because he didn't need magic to know what she was thinking. It was all too familiar; the anger and the tears and the slight tremble of her hands.

He'd broken her heart, just like Lily had broken his, and he could hardly breathe for guilt.

But once again, he somehow failed to do the logical thing, the _sensible_ thing. Instead, he just stayed right where he was, not moving, barely even breathing, and not daring to look at her again, until at last she spoke again.

"It's your... other friends, isn't it? Your House." There was clear disapproval in her voice, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her fists clench in her lap. "Severus, when are you going to learn? They aren't your _friends_. They're the reason you lost Lily, and if you let them get in between us both, too, you'll have nobody. I'm sorry, but it's true, you know it is..."

"Do you think I'm that bloody stupid?" he snarled, his voice choking in his throat again at the thought of Lily. "Do you think I didn't learn a single fucking thing? We've been running experiments for seven years - when have you _ever_ seen me repeat a test that didn't work?" His breath was coming too fast now, close to hyperventilation, and his blood was thudding in his ears. With an effort, he forced himself to calm down, pinching down harder than ever on the webbing of his hand. "I'm trying to help you. Keep you safe. Merlin, Baines, are you so damn _stupid_ you can't see that?"

"Are you so damn stupid you think I need looking after more than I need my best friend?" she demanded without missing a beat, the heat in her voice shockingly uncharacteristic for calm, level-headed Laura. "Your friends might be malicious and small-minded, but they are still _students_, Severus, and most of them aren't too bright, and keeping me safe is _what teachers are for_!"

They were glaring at each other now, her normally soft hazel eyes surprisingly hard, even through the tears. He swallowed, knowing he had to see this through, and dropped his voice with an effort. "Laura... what do you really know about me?"

She blinked at him, clearly not immediately sure how to take the question. Then, slowly, she said, "Not enough. But... um..." and he knew she was taking it as a genuine question, and although it didn't relax him at all, he was grateful.

"But, um?" he prompted her after a moment, when she didn't continue.

"Um." She was frowning, chewing on her lip. "I know the obvious things, of course – you're a Slytherin, you're good at Potions, you are not sociable in the slightest. You're from the North. You're... a halfblood, I think, or you wouldn't have any friends in Slytherin at all; if I know Snape isn't a wizarding name, they certainly will. You're still in love with Lily Evans." He didn't think that one was a calculated attck, but it stung anyway, and he winced a little as she continued into territory almost as painful. He should have thought this through better; he'd forgotten just how sharp she should be. "You're as poor as a church mouse, and too proud to borrow the money you need. You don't trust anyone. You..." She was casting about now, obviously looking for what he was trying to protect her from. "Your parents. You hate your parents. You ran away from them in the summer. Um... Potter? You hate Potter and his friends. Are you scared _they'll_ try to get at me?"

It was so analytical, so reasoned, and yet so desperately _wrong_ that he actually laughed, a harsh, hollow bark. "Potter? You think I'm trying to protect you from _Potter_?"

But it wasn't funny, not really. The thought that he was scared of anything Potter could throw at him was bad enough, but it wasn't ridiculous to think that was his problem. He'd forgotten that this was Laura – Laura who was not only sharp, but trusting; Laura who was a very smart schoolgirl and nothing more; Laura who _cared_ about him. For now.

She was giving him a quizzical look, her eyes still teary and her fingers weaving together anxiously in her lap, frustration in every line of her body. He couldn't put it off any more.

"Laura, it's not Potter I'm trying to protect you from. It isn't anyone like that." He turned his face away as he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to show her the inside of his arm, the sallow skin marred by the vivid red lines of his tattoo. Into the silence which was suddenly much heavier than just silence, he said dully, "It's the Dark Lord. And me."


	14. The Odds Are Long

**14 - The Odds Are Long**

The silence was heavy and stifling, and once again, his throat felt tight – this time not with the urge to cry, but to scream, or at least to say something. Anything. He was generally a fan of silence, but not silences like this. But he restrained himself from breaking it, because that was up to Laura. The air was cool against the skin on his arm, so rarely uncovered, and without looking at her, he twitched his sleeve back over the tattoo.

"...How long have you...?" she faltered, and although the anger hadn't left her voice, it had been joined by something much worse; the unsteady timbre of fear.

He swallowed, digging his nails into the skin of his wrist. "A little less than a year. I was initiated into his inner circle when I turned seventeen. That's when they give you the Mark." His voice was dull, as dispassionate as he could make it, the words clipped and precise. Even so, even withdrawing from the situation as much as he could, he couldn't bring himself to look at her. "But I've been working officially on his side since the beginning of sixth year. He saw potential in me." And, he suspected, the Dark Lord had also seen the dangerously simmering resentment in him – the combined pain of Lily and a long hard summer with nobody to turn to – and known it could be turned against him. He would be angry at having been taken advantage of that way, but he knew that being with the Death Eaters had more than served his own purposes.

Until now.

Now he risked a glance at Laura, out of the corner of his eye, and his nails dug a little further into his wrist. She'd edged away from him slightly, and was giving him a look which wasn't precisely fearful, but was definitely cautious, like he was a dangerous beast she'd set out to study. For the first time, he wondered whether his mistake might not have been in coming here, but earlier, in going to Malfoy Manor, in allowing himself to be drawn into the Dark Lord's web...

He couldn't afford to think like that, though. He couldn't afford to doubt. You never knew who might be watching – which, of course, was precisely the problem.

"You see why we can't be around one another?" he said quietly, at last. "You are in harm's way already. Since before I joined them, even, there have been whispers about you. Later, when I became closer... they question me, Laura. Frequently and with increasing belligerence. About why I allow you near me, and whether you are a danger to their cause." Looking away again, he took a long, slow breath. "I apologised because... because I knew when I agreed to come here that it would be dangerous for both of us. And I did it anyway."

Again, that silence, long and deadly.

"Why?" she asked, softly.

He blinked, not understanding. "I..." he began, and cursed his own hesitation. But he really didn't know the answer. Eventually, unwillingly, drawn out by the sense of overwhelming responsibility to her, he admitted, "I thought it might make you stop asking questions. You were talking about things I would prefer left well alone. I thought, perhaps, I could draw you off the topic by giving you what you wanted."

"That's a lie." Her voice was surprisingly gentle, which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "You wouldn't have come just because of that. You must have known that I would not be satisfied as easily as that. You must also have known that I would have respected your wishes if you'd asked me to leave the subject. So why? Think about it."

And, grudgingly, he did. He _hadn't_ known that she would have left the subject if she'd been asked, but other than that, he knew she was right. He was trying to assign logic to a situation in which he had acted completely illogically; trying to excuse himself for his own irrational stupidity. When he thought about it, there was really only one answer.

Why?

Because he hadn't wanted to be alone.

It took him several minutes to force himself to that conclusion, during which time she watched him unerringly, with a tiny, sad smile and her eyes still shiny with unshed tears. Although he didn't say anything, he must have done something to give the revelation away, because she stood up, with a sigh, and nodded.

"That's what I thought."

He looked up at her, his eyebrows drawing together, the question hanging in the air between them: _what now?_ And she looked back, her arms wrapped around herself, belying her upset. There was something challenging in her posture, though, and he recognised it for what it was – a signal that it was his move now, that she'd done all she could. He met her eyes for a moment, then looked down, back at the sleeve covering up the tattoo. The mark wasn't burning, but it might as well have been for all the chance he had of forgetting about it.

This was worse than what he'd done to Lily, and he knew it. He loved Lily more than he cared for Laura, and if the hurt had been equal he would have felt worse about Lily's pain, but the hurt _wasn't_ equal. He'd hurt Lily, but she'd healed, and it had been in anger and in pain and part of him, even now, felt resentful that she hadn't understood that and forgiven him.

He'd done much worse by Laura, and she was making it worse still, because he could see in her eyes and hear in her voice that she _had_ forgiven him, or was starting to, which could only mean that she didn't know the magnitude of what he'd done. How could she? She was smart, but you only had to look around this house, at her parents and at her friends at Hogwarts, to know that she'd had an easy life. She'd have been exposed to the war, of course – all of them had, especially the Muggleborns – but for her it must be relatively distant, something which touched people she didn't know, or only knew a little. She'd never listened to Death Eaters talk, or watched them kill, or looked the Dark Lord in the eye and felt his mind probing into hers. She was a child of war, but she was still just that – a child.

If he'd ever really been a child, he certainly wasn't any more, and he knew what he'd done. He knew how much danger he'd put her in, for the sake of some weak need for company. And he knew there was nothing he could do about it now.

"I can't go back on it," he said, aloud, very quietly, and found to his horror that his own eyes were filling up with tears. He choked them back, praying she hadn't seen them. "Laura..."

She reached out, hesitantly, and touched his shoulder. "If you can't go back on it," she told him, her voice shaking a little, "then you have to go forwards. You... we have to enjoy the rest of the holiday. We'll think of something, between us. I'm a Ravenclaw, and you're the smartest person I know. We'll think of something." Her breath was deep and steadying; he recognised the same tension in her as in him, and he forced himself not to flinch away from her touch.

"I can lie," he said, with sudden certainty. "Even to him, I think. If I really have to..." It was a crazy thought. Of course he couldn't lie to the Dark Lord, probably the most skilled Legilimens in Britain. Severus himself might be a gifted Occulumens, but he was _seventeen_. He wasn't arrogant enough to suppose that he was a match for the Dark Lord – certainly not enough to suppose that the Dark Lord wouldn't know he was keeping secrets. It was technically possible, of course, but he doubted there was anyone alive, with the possible exception of Professor Dumbledore, who was capable of that kind of thing.

And yet, there was a part of him that whispered _maybe..._ Maybe, if there was enough on the line.

If her life was the prize, maybe.

"First, we would have to come up with a lie for you to tell." She was scrutinising him closely, even as she dug in her pocket for a handkerchief. "If we're careful, it shouldn't have to go beyond Hogwarts, right? If you can convince your friends in Slytherin that you are innocent, then nobody will pass it on to the adults, and both of us should be safe. That's how it works, isn't it? They won't alienate you on the basis of a rumour, or because your Potions partner is some bloody Mudblood?" She pronounced the word with an oddly clipped tone, as if she were quoting something somebody had said to her, and the intonation was so subtle that it took him a moment to realise she was throwing his own words from Christmas Day back at him.

"I don't know," he admitted, softly. "They're... unpredictable. It certainly won't make you safe, but if you keep your head down and don't make it too obvious that we're friends..." It wasn't worth searching for a better term than 'friends', although he still wasn't sure he wanted her as a friend.

"Did you tell them you were going to stay with me?" She was looking through him, probably – just as he was – running the train journey over in her mind to see how much they had incriminated themselves. Not much, he thought – he'd been silent and taciturn for the whole journey, for exactly that reason.

"Of course not." He considered this for a moment. She had a point – they didn't have to know he had been here at all, although that could be utterly ruined if the Dark Lord called him. "Possibly I could tell them that, being of an age of majority, I wanted to take the opportunity to spend Christmas away from Hogwarts. That I found lodgings somewhere in London. That you happened to sit next to me on the train, and I was forced by social mores not to move away." A bitter, humourless smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Or I could tell them I paid a visit to my father. I was considering doing so." He had considered it, too. He'd had time to repent not killing the old bastard – all the time spent vagrant on the road from Spinner's End to London, every time he'd read a story about a Muggle being killed, all the time around his fellow Death Eaters and followers of the Dark Lord. He'd been weak not to do it when he'd had the chance, and looking back on it he couldn't believe he'd left the house without taking his revenge. Nobody would mourn Tobias Snape, except maybe his wife, whose feelings Severus had stopped caring about years ago. Nobody would consider it more important or unusual than any other Muggle killed. He probably wouldn't even be caught...

"You really hate him, don't you?" Laura's soft voice made him jump; he'd all but forgotten she was there, lost in thought as he was.

His nails dug deep into the skin of his wrist. "He is... what Potter will become when Potter gets bitter, jaded, and cruel." It wasn't the most vehement declaration of hate – in fact, it was almost cool, if a little taut – but it was the most damning indictment he could give, and he could see in the slight widening of her eyes that she was starting to grasp the magnitude of his feeling. "He is also completely irrelevant to this conversation."

"I don't know that he is." She was frowning as she dabbed at her eyes. "Is... Severus, is he your problem? With Muggles?"

"My problem isn't with Muggles," he said, levelly. "My problem is with people. He's irrelevant, and we are not going to talk about him. We have to focus on what we're going to do."

Laura regarded him for a moment, her eyes still pinkish from the tears, and then nodded, her voice firm. "I'll tell you what we're going to do," she said with authority, holding her hand out to him. "You're going to get up, we're going to go downstairs for dinner and later to toast in the New Year, and we are going to enjoy the rest of the holiday."

"But, Laura-"

She silenced him, somehow, with a look – something nobody but her and Lily had ever really been able to manage – and a slight, watery smile. "Severus. I doubt we will have time to enjoy anything without stress once we go back to school. So we are going to enjoy it while we can. Understood?"

He had to stifle a smile as he reached out to take her hand. "Understood."


	15. The Irrational Approach

**15 - The Irrational Approach**

It took a long time to sink in – which, Laura supposed, was unsurprising. After all, she had lived what was, by most standards, a pretty comfortable life; she had parents who loved her and supported her, friends who she trusted and cared for, and inasmuch as anyone Muggleborn could be safe in this vicious new world coming into being in Wizarding Britain, she'd considered herself safe. To find out that not only was she living on a knife edge, but she'd been living on it for months, maybe years, without even knowing... anyone for whom that was easy to swallow was probably mentally deficient. Still, she'd hoped.

She managed to hold herself together long beyond the point where she'd expected to fall apart. They had gone downstairs, had an entirely unrelated conversation with her parents, counted down to the New Year, and toasted it in with good champagne. They'd sung Auld Lang Syne, held hands, and welcomed in 1978 as though nothing were wrong. She'd smiled, laughed, managed to keep her eyes away from Severus' sleeve. She'd thought, really thought, that she had herself under control.

And then, when she was halfway through changing into her pyjamas, it hit the pit of her stomach like a lead weight, and she found herself curled on the bed, sobbing silently into her pillow.

It was just... impossible. It was impossible that her best friend, the person she had just started to believe she knew, had been keeping that from her. It was impossible that there were Death Eaters at Hogwarts, let alone that _Severus_ was one. It was impossible, impossible, a thousand times impossible, that she was a target. Since the attacks had started, of course, she had known there was a chance her life was at risk, that all of their lives were at risk, but it had been a distant kind of knowledge, a fear that seemed about as real as bogeymen in the night. Even after people she'd known at school had died, it hadn't seemed real. She'd been living in denial, they all had; living in the cosy little bubble of it-won't-happen-to-me.

But Severus was a Death Eater, she was a target, and it was impossible to deny it any more. She could die. She could die before she'd even left school, she could become just a byline in the _Prophet_'s obituary pages, she could be a cold stone in a graveyard somewhere; _Laura Baines, 1960-1978_. She was seventeen, and she could _die_.

She lay there for a long time, her knees curled into her chest and tears trickling slowly across the bridge of her nose into the pillow, before rational thought began to reassert itself. Even then, it took what felt like an age to bring her mind back into any kind of order. At last, she sat up slowly, trying to keep her breathing steady and calming as she finished buttoning up her pyjama top and went to sit by the window. On the street below, a throng of drunken partygoers stumbled by, singing as they slipped and skidded on the sleet-covered pavement. The clouds overhead turned the moon ghostly, and hid the stars completely. Laura pulled her knee up against her chest, tucking her hair behind her ears, and stared out at the headlights of occasional cars.

What did she know? She knew he was a Death Eater, she couldn't imagine he was lying about that. She knew that he believed, or wanted her to believe, that she was in danger. She also knew, which might be important, that he had chosen to tell her. She knew...

She knew almost nothing. But she refused to let that frighten her. She could work through this. She was clever, she knew she was clever – she might not be an intellectual match for Severus, but she didn't have to be. She just had to be clever. And calm. She had to be calm.

What did she know? She knew Severus. Maybe she didn't know everything about him, or even much about his life at all, maybe he still continued to surprise her, maybe he sometimes seemed like an unknown element, but her gut instinct told her she knew Severus. She knew that, while he was secretive and sardonic and often outright cruel, he was not malicious. He did things for a reason. Usually, she had to admit, that reason was self-serving, but while he might be many things, he was certainly not irrational. So she just had to work out what his rationale was. Why had he got himself that allegiance, that tattoo? Why had he continued to be friends with her afterwards? And why had he told her?

"Laura?" There was a knock on the door, the gentle tap-tap-tap her father always used. Wiping her eyes almost unconsciously on the sleeve of her pyjamas, she stood up and went to open it.

"Dad." Her eyebrows drew together slightly, looking up at him. He looked serious, more so than usual. With the turn her thoughts had been taking, that look sent her stomach plummeting, although she knew there was no logical reason to be so worried. "Is something wrong?"

"You tell me." He sighed, one hand going up to comb back through his flyaway grey hair. "I don't want to be nosy, Laura, but you're my daughter and, well, I know you're grown up now and too old to want your dad sticking his nose into your business, but you seem... not _upset_, exactly, but..."

The tears came back then, burning at her throat, and whether or not she was grown up, she buried her face against her dad's bony shoulder, hugging him tight as she struggled to fight back her sobs. Almost immediately, his arms came around her, holding her close while she cried, the thin thread of her reasoning and logic snapping away again. She was a child, scared and shaken, and although she knew it was stupid, with her dad hugging her close and reassuringly solid in his support of her, she could almost make herself believe that this whole thing was a nightmare, that she might wake up to find that her friend wasn't aDeath Eater, that she wasn't going to die, that the war and the attacks and this whole mess with Severus had never happened at all.

He didn't make her explain what was wrong, for which she was profoundly grateful, since she couldn't have thought how to frame it and she certainly didn't want to lie to him. But he held her until she stopped crying, stroking her hair like she was a little girl again, and in an odd, indefinable way, she felt better for it.

It wasn't until much later, when he was gone and she was lying in bed staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, that it struck her like a hammer blow. Was it any wonder Severus was bitter, hurt, lonely, if he'd never had anyone to hold him and make him feel better? Was it any wonder he felt so detached from people that he could talk about _killing_ them, if he hated his own parents so much he wanted to kill _them_? Of course it didn't make it any less horrifying or scary that he could be capable of that, and it didn't excuse anything he might have done right under her nose, but when he'd cried, had there ever been anyone there to hug him close and stroke his hair? Anyone who'd known him well enough to realise he was even hurt? Anyone...

_Lily_.

Laura fumbled for the switch of her lamp, her heart suddenly racing as she rolled out of bed, tugging open the drawer of her bedside table to pull out a notepad and pen. She scribbled out the letter quickly, barely aware of what she was doing, of anything but the audacity of the plan forming in her head. Lily. Potter. Severus' father. The Death Eaters, Voldemort, everyone and everything that tied it all together. Laura herself.

She'd held back from investigating out of respect for Severus. Because it wasn't any of her business, not really. But she didn't know anything, and her life was on the line now. If what he said was true, his life might be at risk as well.

Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe he would hate her for it. But she had to understand, and he would have to realise that when his past started to turn him to something like this...

That made it her business.


	16. Spinner's End

**16 - Spinner's End**

If Lily's owl had arrived earlier, things might have been different. If Severus had still been around, it might have been better, and what happened might well have been avoided. But the timing was off – just a little, the difference made by an owl being caught in a crosswind or stopping to catch a mouse along the way – and the letter arrived while Laura's parents were driving Severus to London, where he was to stay for the last few days of the holidays, so they could travel back separately.

It was lying innocently on her bed when they got home that evening, and, tired in more ways than she could even begin to understand, Laura almost didn't read it. That might have been better, too. It had been a few days since the confrontation on New Year's Eve, and she'd almost forgotten the crazy things she'd been thinking.

But, as her mother was fond of saying, there's no use crying over what might have been. The letter _did_ arrive after Severus had left, and she _did_ read it, and everything unfolded accordingly.

_Dear Laura,_

_First off, I'm sorry I dragged you into all this. I know what you're thinking – that I didn't drag you into it at all, right? Well, I feel bad for it anyway, so there you go; I'm sorry. I should have known better than to push this.  
><em>_That said, I'm pleasantly surprised to hear that Snape talked to you about his past. I mean, obviously I'm not happy that you had to hear that, or that it happened, but you and I both know that he isn't the kind to discuss himself with just anyone, so I'm glad that he's found someone he's so comfortable around. With luck, that's a step in the right direction for him.  
><em>_I'm glad for him, like I say, but if I'm being honest, I'm worried for you. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you'll do anything stupid, and I don't think that you're in real danger from him – he's bitter and he can be kind of twisted, but he does care about you, and you haven't hurt him like I did, so I don't think he'll want to hurt you. I just feel like I should warn you, as one of Snape's friends to another, to be careful. You know he can be __vile__ when he's defensive, and he can be really, purposefully hurtful.  
><em>_I'm warning you about this because, if you're asking __me__ for information, that means you haven't got his permission for whatever you want to do with it, and I think you need to be really, really careful. Even if all you're doing is research, you're looking into his personal life closer than he'll probably like, and I don't have to tell you how angry he'll be. Hypocritical, I know, given that the whole reason I'm involved in this is because I was messing around in his personal life, but I've already burnt my bridges when it comes to Sev, and you __haven't__. Don't forget that, and don't underestimate how flammable bridges to Snape are. I know this is stupid – you're a __Ravenclaw__, I don't need to tell you this – but think before you do anything about him, okay?  
><em>_I'm also not going to give you his personal details. Sorry, this is a pretty long letter to just say "no" to your request, but I wanted to explain why not. Spinner's End is behind him now, and for that matter, so am I (or I hope I am, and want to be, for everyone's sakes). I'm not going to give you his address, or his parents' names, or any of the other things you asked about, because they're not mine to give. You'll have to ask him.  
><em>_I hope you had a good Christmas, and that 1978 is a better year than 1977 for you. Congratulations on having Snape in the house for an entire holiday without bloodshed, too! I'm sorry I can't be more helpful, but hopefully you understand why.  
><em>

_Lily._

_P.S. – His birthday's this Monday, actually (Jan. 9). I can tell you that much, anyway – although if you wanted to get him a present, it might be a bit too late now!_

Laura read the letter twice, sitting crosslegged on her bed with her bag still slung on her shoulder, then folded it slowly, looking thoughtful. It was more or less what she'd expected; in fact, she would have been quite disappointed in Lily if she'd given away Severus' details so easily. But it was, in fact, better than she'd dared to hope – Lily had given away more than she'd expected.

Spinner's End. That narrowed it down a _lot_. She'd known vaguely where in the country Lily and Severus were from – and had addressed her letter so vaguely that she was afraid her poor owl must have been looking for a long time – but now she had a street. Spinner's End.

She could find that.

Her owl was asleep in its cage, head tucked under its wing, and she didn't disturb it. Instead, she left a treat in the bottom of the cage, tucked Lily's letter into her top drawer, and went to bed herself. She expected to be kept awake, worried by the knowledge of what she was going to do, but instead, she fell asleep almost immediately, and sank into dreamless, worriless black.

...*...

She caught the train up to Newcastle on Friday morning, two days after Severus had left, telling her parents that she was going to stay with a school friend. It was the first time she'd lied to her parents, and it made her stomach twist into knots, but she couldn't tell them the truth – if she told them why she was going, then it would all come out, all about Severus and the Death Eaters and the danger he was putting them all in, and they had parted with him on good terms she didn't want to break. Besides, whispered the part of her which refused to lie to herself, they wouldn't want her to go, and with good reason. This was stupid – all kinds of stupid. It made no sense for her to go.

But she went anyway, trying to relax and read a book as the English countryside skimmed past the train window, although her eyes skimmed over the words without taking them in, and she found herself reading the same sentences over and over again. Lost in thought, she almost missed her connection to Cokeworth, and wound up running for the train, pelting down the platform with her overnight bag swinging from her shoulder. Luckily – or perhaps unluckily – she made it just in time, slipping between the doors of the train the instant before they closed.

Cokeworth was a far cry from her native St. Albans; perhaps the cloudy winter day did it no favours, but the town was dark and close, and seemed to have had all the colour leeched out of it. The streets were narrow and poorly-paved, pressed in on all sides by Victorian tenements of blackened brick, which leant against each other like broken teeth, casting pools of shadows along the pavements. Except for the concrete council flats which she passed on her way from the station and the battered old cars lining the streets, it might have been pulled directly from Dickens. It was dim, claustrophobic, the greyish winter light doing nothing to liven it. She pulled her coat tightly around her, trying not to jump at every little noise she heard, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling nervously.

It took her far too long to find Spinner's End, and when she did finally make her way onto the narrow old mill street, it was getting dark, the flickering streetlights making the shadows leap and dance frenziedly at the edge of her vision. She stopped on the corner, her courage failing her, and stood there in an agony of indecision for several minutes before finally deciding to come back tomorrow. There were plenty of reasons why – it was dark, it was late, she would be disturbing people, she might get lost and not find her way to her hotel in time to check in – but she was self-aware enough to recognise them as rationalisation. The fact was, she was scared. She wasn't a Gryffindor, who might have summoned up the courage to go on, and she wasn't used to places like this. Every horror story she'd ever heard as a child, every news item about rapes and muggings and murders, was echoing in her head, but not as loudly as the realisation that on this street, this very street, there lived a man even _Severus_ was scared of.

In the end, she turned away, and walked three streets to the taxi rank, sitting in the back of the cab and clutching her bag so hard her knuckles went white, even as she tried to join in the driver's cheerful conversation about how bloody awful the weather was. No matter how hard she tried to remind herself that, statistically, most people in cabs and on streets at night must get back safely even in a place like this, she remained on edge long after she'd checked into the Railview Hotel, after she'd unpacked the few things she'd brought with her, after she'd changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed in the dark little room on the top floor. Her sleep that night was shallow, and full of dark dreams.

The next day was brighter, to her profound relief; it had rained in the night, but the clouds had cleared a little by the time she woke up, and the light was that crisp, bright white which only shows on sunny winter days. It made it much less intimidating to set out back to Spinner's End; in the sunshine, Cokeworth looked merely dull, rather than oppressively dark.

Spinner's End itself, though, was still claustrophobic and shadowy, the sunlight only serving to highlight the cracked, blackened brick and mouldering edges of the old walls, and shining off the skim of dust and cobweb which covered several windows of long-abandoned houses. There was a strong smell, too – Laura thought from the river – of black mud, and bitter pollution, and decay. Someone's car backfired in the distance; from a house near the end of the street, raised voices trailed into the clear air. She steeled herself, fingers tightening on the strap of her bag, and tried to hold her chin up as she headed for the nearest house on her left.

She'd visited three doors – each time giving whoever answered her best smile, and a "Hello. Do Mr and Mrs Snape live here?" – before a kind-looking old man with a scrubby, greying beard and sunken-in eyes directed her to the right house, with a thickly-accented warning that "Onery bugger, him. Mebbe you oughtn't go see him."

"I think I'll be all right," she assured him, trying not to let that worry her even more. "Thank you."

"Not from round here, are yez? Mus' be from down sooth, I mean. Mus' be nice down there." There was a wistful tone to his voice, recognisable even through the unfamiliar Northern accent. Nice though he seemed, Laura found herself disturbed by him – or, to be more precise, by the hardworn look of his face, the incomprehensibility of his speech, the lines etched deeply into his face. The more she looked at him, the less sure she was old; he might have been only in his fifties or sixties. But he looked ancient – as if he'd lived a thousand years, and all of them had been a struggle. She was starting to think that Severus' father couldn't be more disconcerting than this cheerful, friendly man who had no reason to be either.

"Hertfordshire," she agreed, out of politeness, but she was already stepping away, her smile a little nervous. "Thank you very much for your help. Goodbye." And she gave him another smile and hurried away, hoping he wasn't offended.

Severus' house was a surprisingly long way down the street, beyond the little alleyway which led toward the mill towers. It looked no different to any other of the old brick houses along the street, besides maybe being a little more dilapidated, and that might have been her imagination. There was no doorbell or knocker, only the house number and a rusty brass letterslot. She hesitated for a moment on the front step, her heart pounding, then steeled herself and rapped her knuckles sharply on the peeling green paint of the door.

Several agonisingly long moments passed, and she was just about to knock again when the door swung open. Laura was torn between relief and frustration as she realised that this was definitely not Snape's father; the person at the door was a woman, thin and sour-faced, with flyaway grey hair tied back in a bun. One look at her expression told Laura that this was definitely Severus' mother, and that, really, it was no surprise he'd grown up the way he had.

"Mrs Snape?" She cleared her throat, fidgeting slightly. "My name's Laura Baines. I'm, er..." She was horrified to realise that she hadn't thought this far ahead. It wasn't as if they were going to let her in because she was Severus' friend; she had a good idea that might be more likely to make them turn her away. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. But she'd come this far already, and her stubborn, investigative streak refused to let her leave it at that. "Is your husband in?"

Mrs Snape gave a dismissive kind of snort. "Snorin' his arse off, like the lazy bastard he is. What'd you want him for, anyway?"

"I just want to talk to him, that's all." Then, deciding to risk it, "About your son."

"Must've got the wrong house." There was a hunted, sly look in Mrs Snape's expression as she said it. "We've not got a son. Sorry. Bye." And she went to close the door in Laura's face.

A part of Laura watched, horrified, as her own foot went out of its own accord to jam the door open. Her mouth was dry, and her heartbeat rising, but she wouldn't be turned away now, not now she'd come this far. "Yes, you have. His name's Severus. He goes to Hogwarts School, Slytherin House. He's seventeen years old, eighteen on Monday. I know who your son is, Mrs Snape, and I know who you are, and I want to talk to your husband, please."

Mrs Snape scrutinised her for a long, uncomfortable moment. "You a witch?" she asked, at last, in an undertone.

"Yes," Laura replied simply, meeting the older woman's eyes.

"I used to be a witch," Mrs Snape said, with a wistful little sigh. "Sevvie's right, though, 'm not any more, not since I married Toby. He's upstairs," she went on, stepping aside to let Laura through. "Won't offer you tea, doubt you'll want to stay. But if you go through to the living room, I'll go and wake him up for you."

"...Thank you." Laura hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, caught off-guard by the sudden change of tone. The hallway was dark and narrow, with a threadbare carpet and old wallpaper starting to curl at the edges. She glanced back as Mrs Snape as she walked past the stairs, turning off into the living room. It was hard to picture Severus here, in this tiny room with floral covers on the chairs and no books on the walls, and at the same time oddly fitting. She didn't take a seat, but went to stand by the mantelpiece, conspicuously lacking in photographs or ornaments.

She'd expected "Toby" to come and find her. Instead, Mrs Snape reappeared after several minutes, smoothing her hair with one bony hand. "He's awake. You can go on up. Room on the left."

"Thank you," Laura mumbled again, and, after a moment's hesitation, followed Mrs Snape's directions, out of the living room and up the stairs.

Toby Snape was in the room on the left, just as she'd been told. He looked a great deal like Severus, uncomfortably so; the same hooked nose, the same greasy black hair, the same dark eyes. He was heavier-set, though, with broad shoulders and arms which, even through his old cotton shirt, were clearly well-muscled. She thought he might have been taller than Severus, but it was hard to tell, because although he was fully-dressed and clearly awake, he didn't stand up to meet her, just propped himself up a little higher on his pillows. There was something inexplicably horrible about the way he moved, and it took her a moment to realise that it was because his legs didn't move at all. He just dragged them along with him, like they were something foreign which just happened to be attached to him.

"The fuck're you staring at?" he demanded, heavy eyebrows beetling together as he glared at her. "Come to gawk, didja?"

It was hard not to be stung by his obvious dislike, but Laura reminded herself as firmly as she could that he didn't know her, so it couldn't be personal. She left the door open a crack as she came into the room, trying to regain some of the confidence she'd found on the front step. "I just came to talk to you, Mr Snape. About what happened over the summer..."

His laugh was a harsh, bitter bark. "Oh, did you now? Well, tough on you, I got nothin' to say to you about that."

"...And about Severus," she went on, trying to keep her expression neutral.

Toby made no such concession. His face twisted, eyes darkening. "You know that little shit? You see him, you tell him from me I'll wring his scrawny little neck if he ever shows his face in this town again. Hear me?" There was a little speckle of foam on his lip; Laura's eyes focused in on it, unwillingly hypnotised, and she nodded.

"I hear you, Mr Snape," she managed, her voice surprisingly steady. Even lying down, he was more than a little intimidating. "I just wanted to ask you... before he ran away, was he acting oddly at all?"

"Never been anything _but_ odd, that one. Creepy little bastard." His dark eyes, hooded and puffy with drink, narrowed, and he looked at her suspiciously. "You some kind of copper?"

"No. I'm one of Severus' friends." She hadn't meant to say that. Nor had she meant it to sound so defensive, nor so angry. It was just difficult to ignore this man lying here, talking about how odd Severus was, as if he had no influence on that at all. "He's been... hanging around with some dangerous people, that's all. I want to know how long that's been going on."

"Don't know. Don't care." Toby's lip curled. "Don't want anything to do with the kid, he's been nothin' but trouble since he first opened up his mouth and screeched. Should've smothered the little sod while he was still in the cradle." He seemed to be warming to his theme. Laura let him, sitting down, small and quiet, in the chair near the bed. It was hard to listen to, but there might be something in it. "Been nothin' but a plague on me and his mam since his first bloody minute in this world, God knows it was a blessing when he got called off to that sodding stupid school of his, got him out of our hair. Only then he comes back with all these bloody grand ideas of himself, never had any manners but he came back thinkin' he was better than us and thinkin' he could prove it... couldn't get him to act normal for the life of me. Locked himself up in his room with them creepy books of his, potions and hexes and whatnot, all the shite they teach them at that Hogwarts place. Ate our food, slept under our roof, never got an ounce've gratitude out've him, just more bloody cheek. And then at the summer, he ups and tries to kill me. Swear to God, my own son, upped and tried to kill me!" He sounded less shocked than aggrieved. "I'd've given him a hiding, is all, and he bloody deserved it after all he'd done to me them last few weeks, but he tried to kill me! You believe that? Waving his fucking stick around and shouting curses at me, next thing I know I'm at the bottom of the stairs, the little shit's gone, and I can't feel my bloody legs. And you're saying he's hanging round with dangerous people? Hope to hell they're dangerous for him. Hope he gets himself shat on the way he's shat on everyone round here. Wring his scrawny neck if he comes round here again, I'm telling you..." It had degenerated into mumbling, but his face was still twisted with anger, and had gone a curious kind of puce.

"He didn't try to kill you," Laura said, quietly. There was a sick, dull feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"The hell would you know?" Toby spat, reaching for the bottle of gin next to the bed. "You're stupid enough to be friends with _him_, the hell would you know?"

She swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment, and fought down her nausea. "If he'd tried to kill you, you'd be dead. Severus may be a lot of things, but ineffectual isn't one of them. Why were you going to, um, give him a hiding?" Trying, very hard, not to think about the words.

"None of your business." That sly, mistrustful look was back, tempered with anger. "If you're from that bloody school of his, you take a damn guess. Or how about you ask _him_, if you're such good friends? Ask him what he says. Ask him what bloody stupid excuse he can come up with."

"All right." She stood up, pushing the chair back against the wall. She wasn't a hateful person, wasn't a judgemental person, supposed that she'd be bitter too, in Toby Snape's position... but still, she couldn't get over her distaste, or her horror at just how bad this household must have been when Severus was in it. There was a nasty, nagging thought, too, that Severus might not have been much better, which only made her hate his father more.

She turned, with her hand on the door. "Actually, I was going to warn you. He didn't try to kill you in the summer, but those dangerous people he mentioned might encourage him to try some other time. I was going to warn you. Now, I don't think I'd stop him." And with that uncharacteristically vindictive parting blow, she stalked out of the room, resisting the urge to slam the door behind her.

She made it out of the house, and all the way down Spinner's End onto the adjoining road, before the weight of what had just happened struck her. She stumbled a couple more steps, then folded up, collapsing up against the wall and trying to breathe around the panic in her chest. Toby... Severus... herself and what she'd done... it was too much. She didn't even care about the odd looks she was getting from passers-by, didn't even notice them; just curled up on the pavement, shaking with something between laughter and crying and retching. That detached, analytical part of her noted that she was hysterical, but she couldn't seem to stop.

"Laura?" Someone dropped to one knee next to her, their voice concerned. "What are you doing here?"

She looked up, guiltily, into Lily's eyes. Lily looked pale, worried, and extremely shocked.

"Oh, Laura... please tell me you didn't."


	17. The Fog Lifts

**17 - The Fog Lifts**

Lily's house could hardly have been more jarring after the dark, narrow buildings of Spinner's End, although it was only a few streets away. It was a new-looking building, a fairly large, semi-detached house with neat flowerbeds outside and an aura of comfortable warmth about it. The walls of the hallway were hung with photographs – of Lily, of her parents, and of a wispy, blonde-haired girl who Laura assumed must be a sister – and the whole house, while neat, was crowded with trinkets and treasures, displayed lovingly on every flat surface. After the dank coldness of the street, and the close, smelly confines of Tobias' room, Laura was profoundly relieved to step into the warm, chaotic comfort of the house.

"Tea?" Lily asked, still fixing Laura with the uncomfortably judgemental look she'd had since Laura had admitted that, yes, she'd been to the Snape house.

"Um... Yes. Yes, please." Laura cleared her throat, sniffing. "Lily, listen..."

"I'm listening," Lily replied, leading Laura into the kitchen and indicating for her to sit down at the scrubbed wooden table in the corner. "But all I'm hearing is that you crept around behind Sev... behind Snape's back, and you used me to do it, after I specifically asked you not to." She sounded every inch the Head Girl; not angry or sharp, just disappointed, which was much worse.

Laura sighed, running her fingers back through her hair as Lily turned away to put the kettle on. "I just wanted to help," she said, but even as she said it she was aware of how stupid an excuse it was. "I don't know whether you're aware, but Severus is... he's got himself mixed up in some dangerous things. I wanted to help. How am I supposed to help if I don't know what the variables are? If I don't know anything about who he is or how he got there, how am I supposed to...?" She trailed off, tears starting to gather in her throat again.

"Merlin's beard, you're such a _Ravenclaw_!" It was part recrimination, part disbelief, but Laura thought there was a hint of frustrated humour in there somewhere. Lily left the kettle, turning and leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. "No wonder the two of you get on. You're the two most clueless people I've ever met."

Laura opened her mouth to make some kind of rebuttal, and closed it again as Lily fixed her with the same Head Girl stare which shut up wrongdoers at school.

"I listened. Now you listen. I don't _like_ Snape, but that doesn't mean I want him to get hurt, and what you're doing here is hurting him. Probably more than you realise. I meant what I said in that owl – Spinner's End's behind him. _Cokeworth_'s behind him. He's put it there for a reason. Digging up the past is going to do more harm than good." Lily sighed again, rubbing the bridge of her nose, and went to sit down opposite Laura, resting her elbows on the table. "You don't need to know all about his past to know him, okay? You're overthinking. He doesn't need somebody to look into his past, analyse it, treat it like a scientific curiosity. If that's what he needs, he's perfectly capable of doing it himself."

"I want to help," Laura repeated, a little shamefaced, trying not to feel like a chastised first-year. "Do you really think Severus will be that willing to try introspection? Maybe you know him better than I do, but I think not. I think he knows how to deal with himself even less than he knows how to deal with..." She'd been about to say _you_, but choked it back in favour of "...other people."

Across the kitchen, the kettle was starting to whistle, but Lily ignored it, her attention fixed on Laura. "He's stupid about things like that. You're right, he probably wouldn't touch the past with a nine-foot bargepole. But if you think that means you should do it for him, that you should fix him..." For a moment, she was quiet, her head sinking into her hands briefly before she looked up again. Her green eyes glittered with tears. "I tried that. Fixing him, making him realise what he was doing, making him less of an arsehole. It didn't really work. And, I mean... I thought about it, after fifth year. I thought about it a _lot_. I don't think he needs someone to fix him - even if he really, really needs fixing, he's the most messed-up person I've ever met. What he _needs_ is someone to help him. Like... just someone to be with him. A friend. That make sense?" Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she cleared her throat and got up to deal with the insistently whistling kettle. "I shouldn't've messed around in all this. You were friends with him already, that's probably what he needed – what he needs. I just made everything a million times more complicated. I'm sorry."

Laura pursed her lips, thinking. Maybe Lily was right. Maybe they should both have left well enough alone, and let things continue as they had been for years. She would be in less danger then, and so would Severus; if she hadn't invited him to stay for Christmas, they might have been much safer. Neither of them would have been put through all the emotion and chaos of the last few months, the coming and going of their fragile friendship, the awkwardness and anger and upset which Lily's intervention had brought.

But something had changed, and she didn't think it had all changed for the worse, either. There was the textbook, the Half-Blood Prince's book which was now hers, with its annotations and alterations which had never been meant for anyone else – he'd given her that, and that mattered. There was the tattoo, and the risk he'd run in showing it to her, the trust that showed. And, of course, there was Christmas. The kiss. She felt stupid for even thinking about it, but... the kiss.

"Typical Gryffindor," she said at last, with a wry smile, and glanced up at Lily, "thinking that complicated means worse. Thank you," she added, as Lily placed a mug in front of her, and didn't just mean for the tea. Things were finally starting to come together, to make a warped kind of sense – things about Lily, about Severus, about all of them. She still didn't know whether they could rescue the situation, but she did know one thing: they could at least move the situation on.

And another thing.

The kiss.

It made everything more complicated, and a thousand times more difficult, and she shouldn't have done it... but, somehow, she couldn't quite bring herself to wish she hadn't. That dawned on her slowly, less a revelation than the realisation of a thought that had always been there, and she frowned slightly as she sipped her tea. They sat in silence for a long time, Lily surreptitiously wiping her eyes as she stirred sugar into her tea, Laura staring at the pale wood of the kitchen table, before Laura found her voice again.

"How did you know?"

"Huh?" Lily jumped slightly and looked up, pulled out of whatever thoughts she'd been embroiled in. "Know what?"

Laura wet her lips with her tongue, not meeting Lily's eyes. Her face felt warm. "...Nothing," she mumbled. _That I loved him_.


	18. Too Little, Too Late

**18 - Too Little, Too Late**

When the day came to return to school, Severus found himself hugely relieved to leave the cramped little bedsit he'd been staying in. He was used to fairly spartan conditions, and ordinarily the solitude and relative quiet of an unshared room would have been a blessing, but since leaving the Baineses', he had found himself forced to admit to loneliness. Uncomfortable thoughts kept bubbling up, roiling and twisting on the usually level surface of his mind. Being back at school, even with all its attendant stresses and horrors, would at least be a distraction.

His tattoo hadn't activated over the whole of the holiday, and he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frightened by that fact. Of course, it meant that the Dark Lord hadn't been checking in on where he'd been – but, on the other hand, that could be because the Dark Lord already knew. Severus had no means of knowing who Laura might have talked to about his visit, let alone who might have seen him getting on and off the train with her, or even seen him leaving the station with her and her parents. So, despite his relief, there was a degree of trepidation to his thoughts as he packed up his battered trunk, tucking his new Potions textbook in among his robes, and left the flat above Knockturn Alley. King's Cross would be the testing ground. Most of his Slytherin allies had a lot to learn about discretion, and if his little Muggle trip was common knowledge, they would let him know, accidentally or otherwise.

_And then what_? If his paranoia wasn't paranoia at all, if the Dark Lord did know, if his allies knew... then what? He didn't have a plan. He supposed he would have to warn Laura, so she could make sure her parents were safe, but as for himself... Most people would have at least considered telling Dumbledore, or staying in Hogwarts where it was safe, but Severus knew from bitter experience that Hogwarts wasn't nearly as safe as people liked to delude themselves into thinking. So, if his mistake in staying with Laura had been a fatal one, then what? As he made his way slowly to King's Cross, he convinced himself that he'd cross that bridge when he came to it, but the thought didn't sit well in his logical, always-planning mind.

He focused on keeping his expression neutral as he strode through the barrier, surreptitiously scanning the crowds on the platform. Nobody turned to stare at him, nobody whispered as he passed, but it took until he'd found Adrian Gibbon, his classmate and one of the worst liars Severus had ever encountered in the Dark Lord's ranks, before Severus was at all convinced. They didn't know, and, if Gibbon was anything to go by, they didn't care, either. Despite his relief, something about that stung – of course, it was a good thing that they hadn't noticed anything amiss, but he suspected that was because, when he wasn't actively helping them, most of his peers tended to forget that he existed at all. He might not be as attention-seeking as Potter, but it was a little wounding to be overlooked so easily.

Gibbon, besides being one of the most indiscreet Death Eaters, was also one of the dullest, so even if Severus _was_ under suspicion, it wouldn't seem remarkable how quickly and deftly he extricated himself from the younger boy's company. Away from him, and relaxed a little by the lack of immediate danger, Severus found himself more at peace than he had been for weeks. He found an unoccupied carriage – another unexpected boon – and settled into a corner, pulling out his book. It was easier, now that he could relax a little, to focus on the crabbed old writing, looking up only to fix a gaggle of first-years with a frosty glare until they fled, giggling nervously, to another carriage.

The whistle had just sounded, and Severus was engrossed in a particularly interesting passage about Lethifold attacks, when he was interrupted by somebody who couldn't be driven away with a glare. Regulus Black, tall and pale and immaculately turned-out as ever, entered the carriage, looked up and down the corridor, and levitated his trunk into the luggage rack, taking a seat opposite Severus. He took out his own book, a thick volume on chess manouevers, but didn't open it, holding it on his lap as the train pulled out of the station.

Although he tried to keep his attention on his own book, Severus was all too aware of the younger boy's keen scrutiny. When, after a few moments, he realised that he'd read the same sentence three times, he finally gave up trying and looked up to meet Regulus' grey eyes.

"Can I help you, Black?" he asked coolly, trying to avoid showing his irritation. Regulus might be younger, but he was well-connected and heir to a powerful family; Severus couldn't afford to alienate him.

"You have not, traditionally, been seen on the New Year's train," Regulus observed in his soft, level voice, and Severus' blood ran cold. The pause before he replied was more than long enough for him to bitterly regret his earlier complacency – of course Gibbon hadn't heard anything awry, but Gibbon was an idiot. Regulus Black, on the other hand, was one of the few current Slytherins who Severus considered an intellectual equal, and his family had the Dark Lord's ear. This was not good. Not good at all.

"I have not, traditionally, been old enough to make it worthwhile," he replied at last, hoping that his voice sounded as steady as he thought. Marking his place with a bony finger, he closed his book and shifted to face Regulus more comfortably. "Does it matter?"

"No." Regulus considered this a moment, frowning slightly, then corrected himself. "Probably not." Was Severus imagining it, or had Regulus' subsequent glance around the carriage seemed almost furtive? "I was simply curious. To the best of my knowledge, you have never made a habit of going home for holidays, and it seemed a little odd that you would buck the trend for only one holiday in your entire school career. It's none of my business, of course. I apologise for my intrusiveness."

"No need to apologise," Severus lied smoothly, opening his book again and scanning the paragraph he'd already read. Across from him, Regulus opened his own book, pulling a notebook and quill out of his robes and beginning to jot down notes from what he was reading. For a moment, silence fell, and Severus let out a long, quiet breath.

"Of course," Regulus said mildly, "it might become the _Dark Lord's_ business, if you aren't careful."

Severus froze, any focus he might have regained on his book shattered in an instant. From outside, however, the only hint of his absolute horror was a slight tensing of his muscles as he said, a little too quickly, "I don't know what you're talking about, Black. Nor can I imagine why the Dark Lord would be interested in my Christmas plans."

Regulus might have looked amused. It was hard to tell; unlike his brother, the younger Black had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Again, he glanced up and down the empty carriage, as if someone might be listening in. "I don't intend to tell him," he assured Severus, in that same calm voice, and despite his natural mistrustfulness, Severus believed him. He had never known Regulus to lie. "It isn't my place, and as I said, where you spend your holidays is none of my business. However, you should be more careful. A more curious person than myself might ask why you left the station in the company of Muggles at the beginning of these holidays, and returned without them."

Slowly, Severus put his book to one side, Lethifolds forgotten, and leant in slightly. "A more curious person than yourself," he answered, dropping his voice to a hushed, serious whisper, "might find himself in a lot of trouble, asking questions he might not want to know the answer to." Unconsciously mimicking Regulus' sweeping look around the carriage, he frowned. "Who else knows?"

"To the best of my knowledge, nobody. Zabini made a passing comment to me regarding the fact that you hadn't spent Christmas at Hogwarts this year, but that was all, and he didn't seem particularly inclined to follow it up. As far as I know, the Dark Lord hasn't been in contact with any students since we left school, so I doubt he's heard anything." Regulus turned his head, making another note in his notebook before looking back up at Severus. "I hope you don't need me to caution you, though, that your friendship with Baines is starting to raise eyebrows. Now, I saw her with Evans not half an hour ago and she looked well enough, so I assume you haven't dealt with that friendship as some of our mutual friends are starting to hope you will. Far be it from me to poke my nose into your affairs, Snape, but between Baines and Evans, I suspect you may be heading for trouble. I wouldn't presume to be your friend, but as your ally, I beg you to be careful. You're valuable to the cause. Don't throw that away."

The silence set back in, stretching between the two boys like a shadow, until at last Severus turned his head, looking out of the window. "I know," he said slowly, and it was a kind of confession. "I've been particularly stupid in the last few months. You're right, of course." _You arrogant little snotbag_. "I should be more careful with who my friends are."

Knowing, even as he said it, that he was lying. Knowing, even as Regulus nodded and went back to his book, that he should have been less careful who he made friends with, not more.

Because, if he'd allowed himself to ever have more than two friends, maybe he wouldn't have convinced himself so deeply that they were irreplaceable.


	19. Atonement

**19 - Atonement**

It was difficult, after such an eventful holiday, to slip back into the rhythm of school again. Severus struggled to remain neutral, as if the holiday had been nothing special at all, but it was remarkably hard. At the Slug Club party to welcome students back, he caught Regulus' eye, and looked away quickly, still unnerved by the younger boy. Only a few moments later, as he lurked by the refreshments table and tried to keep out of the conversations going on, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Lily was giving him an odd, appraising look which he didn't like at all. He left soon after, without excusing himself or caring if it seemed odd, and went to bed, wishing he'd never gone to Slughorn's party at all.

He didn't know which threw him off-balance more – talking to Regulus on a daily basis as though the conversation on the train had never happened at all, or the fact that almost every time he saw Lily in the first week of term, she was giving him that same strange look that wasn't quite a frown. He assumed the two responses were mostly unrelated, since he doubted Lily and Regulus had ever exchanged more than a few words, but they only made it harder to keep his thoughts organised. The worst part was that he couldn't be certain of either of their motives – Regulus could have raised the Death Eaters' opinions of him by pointing out what he'd seen, so Severus couldn't fathom why he was being so discreet, and Lily's motivations made even less sense.

He'd only seen Laura a couple of times outside Potions class, and always in passing. In class, by some unspoken agreement, they had gone back to a slightly uncomfortable silence, only saying things like "Pass the wolfsbane" and "Are those gentian roots fresh or dried?" – it wasn't something they'd decided aloud, but both of them knew now that being friends was dangerous. Severus glanced at her occasionally, from the corner of his eye, but spent more of his time in gauging his classmates, observing them suspiciously from under the curtain of his greasy hair. For the first week or so, they focused on brewing the potions they'd learnt to make the term before; to Severus, who had made each of them time and again in the course of his experiments, it was almost ridiculously easy. He could have brewed an Oculus Potion in his sleep.

It wasn't until they'd finished recapping the last term, and moved on to their next area of study – Invisibility Potions – that either of them communicated at all beyond the bare minimum. As Slughorn began the preliminary lesson, explaining the history of the potion and its uses, Laura looked up from her notes, leaning slightly towards Severus.

"It's my theory," she said, in an undertone, "that if we vary the number of cherries in the mixture, or the methods we use to chop them, we can increase the duration of invisibility. What do you think?"

Severus nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly. He wasn't taking notes, having already read and memorised the information well over a year before; besides, the history of the potion was interesting but unlikely to be tested, and its uses were fairly easy to guess at with a little common sense. He had considered, when first looking into the potion, the same approach that Laura was now suggesting – the cherries seemed to be a major active ingredient, and it followed that they were probably where improvement would lie.

"Tomorrow, after supper?" he suggested, in the same low tone. "I have all the ingredients, besides the cherries, and we can get those from the house-elves."

Laura nodded, almost imperceptably, and lowered her head again to return to her notes. It was hard to tell, under the fall of her hair, but he thought she might be smiling.

...*...

It turned out not to be so simple. If Severus had thought about it, he would probably have predicted that. Nothing ever seemed to be simple for him.

He left the Great Hall after supper, early but without hurrying, and headed back to his dorm. The trunk under his bed held all his Potions ingredients, and he was sitting on his bed, sorting through the bottles and boxes with steady, methodical ease, when he heard footsteps, and then the door creaking open. He had no reason to be jumpy – he wasn't exactly doing anything wrong, after all – but despite that, he froze, tensing as he raised his head.

"Jasper," he said, carefully and without inflection. There wasn't anything exactly worrying about Avery being there; it was his dorm too, after all. But the look on his face didn't bode well.

"Severus. You left in the middle of a conversation. I was worried that you might be ill." Avery looked him up and down, without even feigning surprise, and quirked an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you'd be heading to another study session with your Mudblood friend, would you, Severus?"

"I don't suppose it would be any of your business if I was, Avery," Severus replied, keeping his voice cool and steady despite his rising anger and the touch of panic that underlay it all. After a moment, when Avery responded with only a sneer, he returned to sorting through his ingredients. "As a matter of fact, I am. Why do you care?"

"We let you get away with fraternising with her for a long time." Now a hint of menace was starting to creep into Avery's voice. "And don't make the mistake of thinking otherwise, Severus, we _let_ you. But, honestly, I'd hoped you might have got over this lapse of judgement. I heard rumours that the two of you had had a... falling-out, shall we say?"

"Again, why do you care?" Severus looked up, meeting Avery's eyes. "I think you'll find that the rumours have been vastly exaggerated, on both fronts. We didn't fall out, largely because..." He almost expected the lie to be difficult, but it was as easy as ever. "...because we had no need for a friendship in the first place. Baines and I have an agreement, that's all. Mutually beneficial. Whatever her bloodline, she is one of the best Potions students in the school. You put up with Mudbloods in your Chess Club, and I am willing to put up with them in my study sessions. I thought you of all people would understand that, Avery." Tucking the jars of ingredients into his bag, he stood up and slid the trunk back under his bed with a flick of his wand. "Frankly, I'm disappointed in you."

He was halfway out of the door when Avery called after him, "Who do you think you're fooling, Severus?"

"Excuse me?" He froze for a moment, then turned slowly, one eyebrow rising. His dark eyes flashed dangerously.

"You're lying to me." Avery stared him down, arms folded, lips curled. "It's bad enough when you don't tell me things, but you are _outright lying to me_. I'm starting to doubt where your loyalties are, Severus. Lie to your enemies, lie to that Mudblood bitch, but don't you dare lie to your _real_ friends. You may think you're safe, Severus, and that the Dark Lord won't care about your silly little dalliances, and maybe you're right about that. But _I_ care, Severus, and you might do well to remember who your real friends are in this school." It was cold, clipped, and undeniably threatening.

Severus considered this for a moment – an uncharacteristically long moment, in fact. But his hand crept towards his wand, his fingers closing around the handle as he finally answered, in a slow, deadly hiss: "And you might do well, Jasper, to remember who taught you all those nasty curses you and Mulciber enjoy so much. You might do well to remember which of the two of us has the Dark Lord's ear. You might, in fact, do well to remember that you do not hold the power here. A foreign feeling, I know. Nonetheless, one you may just have to come to terms with." He released his wand, brushing imaginary dust off the front of his robes, and turned away. "Now, I have a study session to attend with, yes, my _friend_. And I don't doubt that, being a reasonable person with a sense of perspective, you won't raise this subject with me or anybody else again. Good night, Avery."

He walked away, clutching the strap of his bag until his knuckles went white, trying not to think about how his heart was hammering through his chest. What the hell had he done that for? Threatened one of his most influential allies, laid all his cards on the table in front of somebody he _knew_ would be prepared to use them against him, endangered not only Laura but himself and everything he had spent seven years building up. All that, because Avery had made some threatening implications, and had somehow managed to rile Severus up more ways than Severus had thought possible. It was _stupid_. He had been _stupid_.

And yet... and yet, he didn't regret it. That was the stupidest thing of all.

It had felt good. It felt _just_. After everything that had happened, after all that he'd been through, he wasn't about to repeat the mistakes of fifth year. This was a new page, a fresh start, and he would atone for what he'd done before.

He raised his chin, took a deep breath, and went on walking.


	20. Cold As A New Razor Blade

**A/N:** Chapter title rather unimaginatively stolen from the Leonard Cohen song _So Long, Marianne_, which I was listening to on repeat while I wrote this chapter. So, yes. Credit to Leonard Cohen for that one. (Listen to the song. It's good.)

* * *

><p><strong>20 - Cold As A New Razor Blade<strong>

Laura was already in the dungeons, setting up her cauldron and parchment for the experiment, when Severus arrived. The moment he came through the door, she knew something had happened. There were spots of colour on his usually pale skin, and his eyes were almost feverishly bright; he strode into the classroom with his hand clenched so tightly around his bag strap that his knuckles were yellow-white. He actually smiled at her, too, as he closed the door – a smile that showed his teeth for a second, and looked worryingly triumphant.

"Are you okay?" she asked, genuinely concerned, as she moved towards him to take the glass jars he held out.

"I..." He faltered, as if he was remembering where he was, and his heavy eyebrows beetled together for a moment. "Possibly. Far less angry than I should be, which is a little worrying."

She wasn't so sure about the _little_. The thought of whatever had made Severus angry made her heart sink. Putting the jars down next to her cauldron, she leant back against the desk and brushed a stray hair behind her ear. "What happened?"

"I did," he replied cryptically, moving to set up his own cauldron. The hectic colour on his cheeks hadn't faded yet, but his eyes had stopped glittering quite so wildly. He busied himself for several minutes setting up his cauldron, while Laura – profoundly unsatisfied by that answer – stood with her arms folded, watching him.

"What happened?" she repeated, when he seemed to be about finished.

And he told her.

She tried to keep her expression steady, but she couldn't help paling slightly as he explained what had happened with Avery. It seemed so uncharacteristically reckless of him, not to mention stupid. It wasn't even that she was worried for him – the way he told it made it clear that he didn't think Avery would be willing to raise it with the Dark L—with Voldemort, and she had no doubt of who would win if Avery and Severus crossed wands, even if Avery got Mulciber on his side. No, selfish though it might be, it was herself she was worried about. Unlike Severus, she wasn't exactly an expert on curses, or even defensive spells, and if they chose to take it out on her, she would be an easy target. The thought of what he might have unleashed scared her, pure and simple.

Yet, somehow, she could sympathise with what he'd said. She was scared, yes, but she was far less angry than she should be. The first thing to come to mind, after fear, was actually the overwhelming urge to laugh. It was the image of Avery's face that did it – she didn't know Avery well, and didn't want to, but she knew he was used to getting his own way, and the thought of his expression when Severus turned on him like that made it impossible not to crack a smile. She covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head, and wondered which of them was madder – Severus, for doing it, or her, for finding it so funny.

"Why would you _do_ that?" she asked, when she had herself under control and had even managed to wipe the smile off her face. "It's..." Clearing her throat, she struggled to swallow another bubble of mirth. "I mean, it's not like you at all. Didn't you even think what might happen?"

"No," he said, with uncharacteristic frankness. His high colour had faded, and now he just looked profoundly uncomfortable. She was reminded of him sitting on her bed at New Year's, with his tattoo bared and that same unfamiliar look of uncertainty on his face; the thought managed to sober her up where everything else had failed. She cleared her throat.

"Why not?" It was quieter now.

He turned to his cauldron, uncorking a jar of newt's eyes and dropping one into his mortar. "I don't want to talk about it," he said. His voice was flat, cool, the voice he used when he was shutting everyone else out. She knew that voice. It had been aimed at her for most of seven years. "It happened. It was stupid. And I will deal with it, even if I have to Obliviate half of Slytherin to do so. Now, did you get those cherries from the house-elves?"

Laura was so used to him taking charge in their Potions sessions that she actually started to tell him yes, they were in the bowl next to her cauldron. Halfway through the sentence, she closed her mouth sharply and moved to cover the bowl of cherries with her hand so he couldn't use them to distract himself. No. She wasn't going to let herself be fobbed off that easily. Dammit, this was her business. "Severus," she said, impressed by the sharpness of her own voice, "I don't care. I don't care whether you want to talk about it. This isn't just about you, you know. This isn't one of those things you have a right to change the subject about. You put us both in danger just now, and I need to know why, and I need to know whether you are likely to do it again. So we are going to talk about this, you understand?"

When he stood straight, moving closer to her, Severus was a lot taller than her. It made it quite intimidating when he stood only a foot or so away, his black eyes opaque and unreadable, his mouth drawn into a thin line. Oddly, what she found herself focusing on was the fact that, once again, his usually pale cheeks had gained a slight flush of colour. She'd clearly made him uncomfortable, she thought, and felt bad for it – but he had to learn that he couldn't just cut her out of the loop. Not when it could be her life on the line.

She met his eyes, her own lips pressed together, quite willing to stare him down. "Severus. Please. Tell me why you wouldn't think before doing something as important as this."

For a long time, there was silence. In the dungeon, with its thick, soundproof stone walls, silence took on a whole new dimension; the only sound she could hear was the steady thud of her heart and the whispering sound of their breathing. At last, he swallowed and turned his head away slightly, and suddenly, although he was still significantly taller than her, he seemed much less threatening.

"I didn't think because it wouldn't have made a difference," he said, quietly and deliberately. His hands, stained and scarred from potions-making, rested on the desk; the tension thrumming through his body showed most clearly in his wrists, where the tendons stood out starkly, shifting like snakes under the blue-white skin of his wrists. Again, she was reminded of the tattoo, and she shuddered.

"What do you mean?" Drawing a step closer, she reached out cautiously to touch his shoulder. He was drawn so tightly, so tense, that he seemed to vibrate under her hand, but he didn't flinch away. Instead, he turned his head. His eyes were no longer opaque and unreadable, but she couldn't meet them for more than a moment; there was a worrying intensity to his gaze.

"I mean..." He hesitated. "I was angry, of course, and that clouded my judgement in any case. But what I _mean_ is that... I can't go through it again. Not like with Lily. Once was enough, I can't make that mistake again."

Laura was silent, her mind abuzz. She thought she probably knew what he meant, but that in itself was something groundbreaking – albeit not nearly as groundbreaking as the thought that she had challenged Severus Snape and he had _given way_. Not only that, but he had let himself be pushed into discussing something personal, something he was clearly uncomfortable talking about.

In the back of her mind, Lily whispered _What you're doing here, it's hurting him_, and poisoned that momentary sense of triumph with an overwhelming guilt. She didn't want to hurt him. If the nightmarish glimpse she'd had of Spinner's End was any indication, he'd been hurt more than enough for one lifetime. But it was too late to take it back. Just like it was too late to take back inviting him home for Christmas, or visiting Cokeworth. Just like it was too late for him to take back what he'd said to Avery.

She watched him wordlessly, her hand still resting lightly on his shoulder. He was staring down at the table now, his Adam's apple bobbing. None of the tension had gone out of his shoulders.

"This is your fault," he said at last, closing his eyes. But he was smiling, thinly and bitterly. "Yours and Lily's. It's so much easier when there's nothing there. You see, this is what caring about somebody does. Why it makes you weak. Before I loved her, it didn't matter if I betrayed her. Because I loved her, I ruined everything. And now it's all coming around again."

Laura bit her lip, looking up at him. "Severus..."

"I can't do it again." His voice was low, fervent. "She hates me. She hates me, and every time I see her with Potter I want to tear them apart. It's bad enough that he gets to be with her, but that she thinks even _he's_ better than me, even _Potter_, even that bullying, blockheaded, arrogant, self-righteous..." She didn't think it was possible, but he tensed more than ever, his jaw clenching so tight she clearly heard his teeth grind together. "I can survive that. I've survived it for two years. But somehow, you keep creeping in at the edges, and I can't do it again. Not now."

Her heart seemed to have stopped. She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, hardly even seeing him. For _Severus_ to say something like that, something so wrenchingly raw, was far more terrifying than anything Avery and Mulciber might do to her. It was frighteningly surreal.

"Severus, please, I'm not..."

His kiss was hard and violent, his teeth bruising against her lip. It only lasted a moment before he pulled away again, his eyes dark and accusing.

"Why couldn't you just be nothing?" He straightened, pulling away from her hand on his shoulder and stumbling back. That wild look was back in his eyes, only now he looked less manic and more frightened, as though he might bolt at any moment. "Why couldn't you hate me? Why couldn't you be less like _her_?"

"I'm not like her," Laura said, quietly, not even sure why she was saying it. "I'm like me."


	21. Tightrope Walking

**21 - Tightrope Walking**

They stood there, facing each other in silence, for a long time. Neither of them moved. Even the soft sound of their breathing seemed to have stopped, and the silence sucked at the air around them. Severus barely blinked, and Laura found herself trapped in his gaze, like a mouse with a snake, unable to blink or look away. Her eyes were starting to ache, and so was her chest. She didn't understand what was going on in his head, and that was worst of all; she wanted to know what he was thinking, why he was staring at her like that. Her lips still throbbed slightly where he'd bruised them against her teeth. She knew, on a deep and almost unconscious level, that if she moved too soon or broke the silence, it would be over. They'd have to face what was happening, and she didn't think Severus was capable of doing that, certainly not if it wasn't on his own terms. There was an instinct there, too, which went down millenia deeper than conscious thought; the instinctive thought that to look away first would be to show weakness, and that she couldn't afford to do that right now. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to stand still, meeting his eyes, not backing down. Everything felt somehow thin, fragile, like the world was held by the slim thread of their eye contact, and it could all fall apart if she made a wrong move.

Or maybe she already had, and it was only a matter of time before the thread snapped.

Eventually – she thought, even allowing for the way time had stretched around them and lost meaning, it must have been well over five minutes – Severus broke the silence, and a moment later, the eye contact.

"You're right. You're not like her." It was quiet, and she couldn't read the tone. Turning away, he leant on the desk, head bowed and face hidden by his greasy hair. Another silence, this one shorter and pregnant with the undertone of hesitation. "...I don't understand this," he said, at last. He sounded bewildered, but not particularly emotional; if she'd ever heard him admit to not understanding something in class, she imagined his tone would have been the same. "I mean, I suppose it makes a kind of sense. Hormones, fear, a sense of companionship... it's a well-documented fact that people do mad things in times of turmoil, and after Christmas, I imagine this must certainly count as a time of turmoil for you. But that doesn't explain _me_."

It was tempting to say something – to suggest that it might be a time of turmoil for him, to tell him that he was overthinking and oversimplifying, to let him know that she'd been growing to feel this way since long before Christmas. Most of all, it was tempting to confess, and to tell him that the mad things she'd done didn't start or end with just caring about him – the impulse to tell him about her trip to Spinner's End was boiling up inside her like a fever. But she wasn't far gone enough to entirely lose her common sense, and, deciding that discretion was probably the better part of valour, she held her tongue. Maybe there would be a time to talk to him about that, but it certainly wasn't now.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he went on, after a while. His voice was still matter-of-fact, but now there was an edge to it, almost defensive. "You of all people must understand that I... I try to be rational. Sensible. This, whatever it is, is neither. I think it would be best for both of us if we admitted that, and took several steps back. Perhaps we should ask Slughorn to move us apart in lessons. It's certainly not going to help our concentration if we remain partners without dealing with this."

There was a degree of selfishness, Laura had to admit to herself, in the thought process which led up to her reply: "I think not." Moving towards him a little, she perched on the edge of the nearest desk, regarding him thoughtfully. She wasn't at all sure what she was saying was right, and again there was that jarring feeling of uncertainty, even stupidity. "I think... well, it wouldn't speak volumes for your claim that there's nothing untoward happening, would it? If you make a clean break of it, while it might possibly be better in principle -" That hurt to say, an almost physical ache in the pit of her stomach - "then your... friends, peers, whatever you would call them, will start to ask what precipitated the break."

Severus appeared to consider this, although with his face still hidden by his hair it was hard to tell, and then he nodded slightly. "I suppose you may be right," he agreed with apparent reluctance. "What do we do, then? We clearly can't carry on like this."

"I'm not sure it's all that clear," she mumbled under her breath, biting on her lip. She hadn't meant to say that, or even to think it, but it had slipped out, and once it was put into words, she thought it seemed surprisingly true. It _wasn't_ clear to her. They could carry on like this, if they tried, if they agreed that was what they wanted to do. She didn't know whether it would be the best idea, but it was starting to look like there weren't any good ideas still around. And then there was the fact that the idea of the alternative, of splitting away from each other and never running experiments together or working at their Potions bench in peaceable silence or talking together again... that thought _hurt_, like a stone dropped in her belly.

Severus frowned, raising his head a little to fix her with a look. "What did you say?"

Laura didn't answer, though. A strange feeling had come over her, and, as her thoughts strayed towards the pain of that idea, certainty suddenly flashed over her like lightening. For the first time since Christmas, she felt that she saw things as they really were – saw, with a kind of wonder, how she and Severus were. She looked at him, with his hair still half-covering his face and his dark eyes flat and unreadable, and saw him with bizarre clarity; he wasn't handsome, or even good-looking, but he could be if he smiled. He wasn't kind, and he certainly wasn't nice, but he was _good_, honest and brave and remarkably principled. Most of all, she realised, he wouldn't change. Lily was right, she couldn't fix him – she couldn't take away the shadow of Toby, or the hatred and mistrust he hid behind, or the Slytherin streak of self-preservation and hunger for power. She might take away some of the lost feeling he gave off, and give him a reason to smile, but in all probability, he would never be happy and this would all end in disaster. He was bitter, he was closed-off, he was messed-up beyond all repair, and this was a terrible idea.

And yet, she felt absolutely no doubt as she stood up, moving closer in soft little steps. He was still leaning on the desk, waiting for her to tell him what she'd said; his shoulder brushed, just lightly, against the side of her chest as she stopped.

"I said we can. We can carry on like this, if we have to." She was certain, but she was cautious, and even as she reached out to touch his face, there was a part of her that was screaming at her to stop, before she passed the point of no return. Although the sudden clarity was beginning to fade, she clung onto the shreds of her certainty, ignoring the reasonable, rational part trying to stop her in her tracks. She cupped his cheek in her hand, coaxing his head around so he was facing her; he tensed, flinching a little, but didn't pull away. "Severus, listen to me." Now she was the snake and he was the mouse, caught in her stare; she sensed the shift between them, and didn't like it, but she needed him to hear it. "I love you. Do you _understand_ that? I love you."

She was very close; she'd leant in more without realising it, and now their faces were almost touching. She could feel his breath on her skin, warm and unsteady. He closed his eyes, and at the edge of her vision, she saw his hands clench into fists against the table, then unclench again.

"I know," he said, very quietly, and opened his eyes again. To her horror, they were glittering with unshed tears – tears from Severus Snape, who never cried. "I've known for months. I hoped it would go away. I of all people should have known better."

The certainty was gone, leaving an aching void of doubt. The steadiness of his voice, combined with the dampness of his eyes, was coldly terrifying. She didn't know what to do. She'd expected shock or fear or even happiness from him, not this strange resignation. And how had he known, when even she hadn't?

"It hasn't," she said, knowing that it was a stupid thing to say – she was stating the obvious, and neither of them liked that. But he didn't seem to notice, and, to her shock, when she tried to drop her hand from his cheek, he raised his own hand to hold it in place. When he straightened up, so did she, automatically, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn't panic, not yet, but it was something close – a tightness in her chest, a tension thrumming through her, and, again, that feeling of fragility. It was like standing on a tightrope above an infinite drop, knowing that if you fell you would die, knowing that you couldn't put a foot wrong until you found the end. It was like that, and at the same time, not like that at all, because she wanted to stay right where she was, balancing on the tightrope, and she almost didn't care about reaching the end. It made her dizzy, frightened. She didn't want to pull away, but she was very aware that they were well out on the tightrope, now, and there was no going back.

"Severus..." Her lips felt numb, her voice not quite her own. "I'm going to kiss you. Please... please don't run away."

"I'm not going to run away." It was tinged with irritation, as if he was shocked that she'd think that of him, but she was gratified to hear uncertainty in his voice, too.

She took a deep breath, her free hand coming up to his shoulder, and summoned up her courage – she was surprised, looking back on it, at how much courage it took. Going up onto the balls of her feet, and steadying herself on his shoulder, she leant up and pressed her lips against his.

For a moment, as they had been the other two times they'd kissed, Severus' lips were hard and unyielding. And then, suddenly, without her being aware of any transitional stage, he was kissing her back, fiercely but much less harshly than before, his arms coming around her and crushing her close, as if he was afraid _she_ might break and run for it. Her lips parted slightly, instinctively, and he followed suit after a moment. His eyes were screwed tightly closed, the lashes damp as he struggled against tears. After a moment, she followed his example and closed her own eyes, arms coming up to wrap around his bony neck. The cauldrons and ingredients on the bench were temporarily forgotten in favour of this other, less controlled experiment; Laura was certain of very little at that moment, but she _was_ certain that they weren't going to find out the effects of cherries on the effacity of Invisibility Potions. Not today, anyway.

Under his robes, his chest was bony and thin, pressed close against hers. She pulled away for a moment, flushed and gasping in a breath, and half-opened her eyes, and then he pulled her up to him again, with a kind of desperation, for another kiss. Her heart seemed to have stopped, and she felt light-headed and giddy, quite unlike herself. This couldn't end well. Dimly, at the back of her mind, she could remember that, but it was a thought that belonged with reason and logic, and, right now, she couldn't bring herself to care about any of that.

He was hard, and bitter, and on some level she feared him and what he brought with him. He wasn't good for her, and she was pretty sure she wasn't good for him, and in an odd way it felt as though she was cheating, because she knew she wasn't his first choice. And he wasn't handsome, and she wasn't beautiful, and the reader in her screamed that if they were going to do the whole star-crossed-lovers act they should at least look the part. It wasn't right. He wasn't right. Nothing about this was right.

But they kissed, on the tightrope of the solid dungeon floor, balanced tentatively between fear and hope, and she thought nothing had ever seemed more natural in the world.


	22. Afterburn

**22 - Afterburn**

The urge to run away fought with the urge to stay. Severus' heart was thundering in his chest, painfully hard, his head light and giddy. Somehow, he'd expected his first real kiss to be a little more... he didn't even know. Transcendent? The word had horribly fluffy undertones, but he supposed it was about right. He'd never really thought about it, but he'd expected it to be _different_, to be easy and light and, of course, to be with Lily.

But the stone floor was solid underfoot, and he could smell the wormwood and the dandelion roots in the bowls of ingredients, and her hair tangled on his long fingers, and she tasted vaguely of pumpkin juice from dinner. It occurred to him, with a dry, sardonic edge, that kissing really _shouldn't_ be enjoyable, and exchanging saliva was really just unhygienic. The thought didn't stop it from being very enjoyable indeed.

Would it be better if the hair his fingers dug into was red, if the face so close to his was freckled, if her closed eyes were green instead of brown, if she was the girl of his dreams and not the girl of reality? Maybe. Maybe it wasn't as simple. All he knew was that he would have been more than happy to stay there forever, pouring all his fear and anger and sadness into that kiss and finding all that came out of it was an unfamiliar kind of contentment.

Unfortunately, it wasn't transcendent, and reality wasn't easy or light. With a sigh, he pulled away. He had no idea how long they'd been kissing, or where to go from here. Instinctively, he wanted to ignore that, and kiss her again, and to hell with the rest of the world. The trouble was, the rest of the world wouldn't take that as reason enough to leave them alone. Acting like lovesick teenagers, however tempting, wasn't a good idea.

With a little sigh, he stepped back, sitting down on the nearest bench and looking up at her. "I... Laura..." His voice came out cracked and hesitant, completely unlike him. He cleared his throat, and looked away.

"You're smiling," she observed, quietly, and looked to him as if for permission before sitting down next to him. Her hand reached out, hesitantly. To his own surprise, he took it, long pale fingers lacing through her shorter, plumper ones. She looked down at their intertwined hands, blinking, and smiled. He'd seen her smile plenty of times before, but this particular time it seemed different. Which was ridiculous. This whole _thing _was ridiculous.

"Is that not allowed?" he asked dryly, suddenly extremely self-conscious of his own unfamiliar smile.

"Don't be silly." Her voice was brisk, remarkably no-nonsense. It made him remember why he was friends with her – always assuming, of course, that he _was_ still friends with her after this. "I've told you. You're handsome when you smile."

He didn't mean it to, but the smile faded off his face. "I wish you wouldn't say that," he muttered.

"What? That you're handsome?"

"I'm not." Now the familiar tightness was sneaking back into his jaw and into his voice. "I do own a mirror, you know. And even if I were, that sounds awfully..."

"Platitudinous?" she suggested, into his silence. Severus sighed, working his hand out of hers and pushing back his hair. That had, in fact, been exactly the word he'd been thinking of. "Severus, I don't make a habit of platitudes. You know that as well as anyone. I'm not pretending that you are always handsome, and I wouldn't care if you were. But you are not as ugly as you seem to think. And when you smile, you _are_ handsome." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile. "I'm sorry. But it's true."

It didn't feel true. Now that they weren't kissing any more, now that the madness had passed and his rational brain had reasserted itself, all of this felt like a lie, told by himself as much as by her. He wanted to believe it, but that was precisely why he shouldn't. People lied. They lied all the time. That was just how the world worked. No matter how fervently he wanted to believe that Laura was telling the truth, that the thunder of his heart was telling the truth, he couldn't. Maybe he could believe it with Lily. _Maybe_. But maybe that was just because Lily had never loved him back.

But when she reached out to take his hand again, although he didn't hold hers, he let her place her fingers over his on the bench between them.

"Severus," she asked softly, after a moment, and he could hear the tension in her voice, "what are we going to do?"

"I thought you were the one who said we could go on like this," he said acidly, and regretted it immediately. The truth was, though, he didn't have an answer, and that scared him more than ever. He couldn't stay a Death Eater if anyone knew about her, if Avery told anyone about the mess earlier... he couldn't leave the Death Eaters, because nobody left the Death Eaters alive, and because he'd built up too much over the last few years to turn his back on it all now, over some adolescent crush (no, he qualified automatically, Lily hadn't been an adolescent crush, Lily had been _Lily_ and that made it all different). He couldn't risk everything for nothing.

And he couldn't risk her for everything.

"Nothing's changed," he said, quietly, and turned his head away so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. "We can't be together. We can't be _friends_. This is ridiculous. This whole infatuation needs to _stop_."

"Who are you trying to convince?" she asked, squeezing his hand lightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lean forwards, trying to make eye contact again; he dodged it, his mouth pressed into a thin, flat line. "Severus. Look at this from an experimental point of view. We've tried fighting, and it made us miserable. We've tried friendship, and it developed into... whatever this is. We've tried not talking to each other, and eventually, we crack. All the results are there. And I'm not trying to get you to go down on one knee and declare your undying love for me – honestly, if you did, I would be terrified – I just want you to acknowledge that this..." She swallowed, then sighed and went on, "this _infatuation_, if that is what you want to call it, is not going to stop until it's run its course. For _either_ of us," she added, laying stress on the word.

He sighed. At last, with his head still bowed a little, he turned to look at her, trying to analyse what he saw, what he felt. She wasn't beautiful, not like Lily was beautiful, but beauty had never been what attracted him. Her mouth was fuller, bruised a little from kissing, her face rounder, nothing about her looked like Lily, except... Her eyes were brown, not green, but there was still the same kind of gentleness in them - the look which wasn't quite soft, because it could be hard as steel, but which said _I'm with you_. There was the same fierce spark of intelligence. He felt the same strange sense that he was both the protected and the protector, where he was used to being neither. He wanted – more than he wanted power, more than he wanted solitude, more than he wanted safety – for her to be safe and happy. He wanted to be with her.

"Oh, Salazar," he muttered, miserably. "What _are_ we going to do?"

For a long moment, they sat in silence, her hand warm on his. Severus closed his eyes, resting his head in his hand. Had it really been less than an hour since this had felt right, noble even? Since he'd stormed out on Avery and felt so smug in his atonement? He'd made things worse, not better, yet again. This was what he'd dreaded since this whole business with Laura had started. This was what happened when you let yourself get close to people; you ended up loving them, and then you ruined everything.

He felt her shift beside him, and looked up. She'd reached for the bowl of cherries, and had one in her hand, looking at it with the intensity she usually reserved for difficult problems in class. As he watched, she turned it over with her thumb, her eyebrows drawing together, then looked at him. To his surprise, her smile was back, bright and fresh, as if it had suddenly started to make sense to her.

"What?" he asked, a little irritably.

"You're right." Her voice had brightened to match her smile; her eyes were dancing.

"And you're making no sense," he retorted, but her smile was infectious. Unwillingly, he felt the corners of his mouth twitch. "Right about what?"

"Nothing's changed." He didn't understand what she was saying, and it must have been obvious on his face, because she looked at him and stifled a laugh. "You don't get it, do you? Sorry, Severus, it's just... Nothing _has_ to change."

His eyebrows drew together for a moment, then his face cleared as he caught up with her, and against his better judgement, he smiled – a real, true smile which crinkled his eyes and softened his face. Reaching over, he plucked the cherry out of her palm, examining it thoughtfully. "We still haven't made our observations on Invisibility Potions, have we?"

Laura's smile was soft. So was her kiss, a chaste brush of lips against his cheek. "Well, we've got all the time in the world."


	23. Reflections in Broken Glass

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in updating. It's been a busy few months. That said, I hope you enjoy the chapter and don't hate me too much for leaving you on tenterhooks!

* * *

><p><strong>23 - Reflections In Broken Glass<strong>

They met twice more that January, in the empty Potions dungeons after dinner. There was no repeat of that breathless, awful ecstasy which had permeated the first experimental session of the year. They kissed again, more than once, but gently, without the bruising urgency of the first time. Mostly, they worked, although it was sometimes a struggle to keep their attention on the Invisibility Potions instead of on each other. Laura was aware of how ridiculous they were being, how stereotypically like two teenagers in love, but that was part of the appeal. It was ridiculous. It was uncharacteristic. It was a million miles from steady, serious Baines and Snape, she with her quiet, bookish habits, he with his sneer and his greasy hair and his Dark Mark.

His Dark Mark. Somehow, that was increasingly hard to keep in her mind, even though she knew it was the most important thing of all to remember about him. It shouldn't have been so difficult to connect that Severus with _her_ Severus – both were cool, hard, bitter, and closed-off, and it wasn't such a step to imagine the Severus she knew turning to violence – but it was hard. Severus Snape, the Death Eater, and Severus Snape, the boy who spent Potions sessions with her and occasionally brushed her hand now in class, were fundamentally incompatible. One hated Muggleborns, and wanted to kill them. The other spent his time in a dungeon with one, giving her remarkably soft looks and occasionally kisses. It was a zero-sum equation. It wasn't logical. It didn't make _sense_.

For that reason, if nothing else, she was grateful for the lessons she had which didn't have Severus in them. She liked Severus' quiet intelligence, his oddly principled nature, and the uncertain tenderness she saw in him on the rare occasion when he let down his guard, but that didn't mean she liked the way he made her feel. It was horribly confusing, being around him. Worse, it was compulsive. She knew he wasn't as pleasant as her romantic nature liked to make out: he was a Slytherin, and a Death Eater, and he'd all but confessed to wanting to kill his father. Despite that, though, and despite the fact that she knew he was dangerous to her, she couldn't quite push down the desire to be with him. Not to have sex with him – her mind had gone there once, and shied away immediately – and not even to kiss him, but, maybe, to hold his hand, or sit with him, or just to be acknowledged as being something more than a dirty little secret. At the same time, she knew he was her own dirty little secret. Besides Lily and possibly Avery, nobody at Hogwarts seemed to be aware of their relationship, and she was glad of that. She was, she found, ashamed to be with him; ashamed because it was so illogical, and so ridiculously stupid, a classic case of heart over head. Ashamed, too, because she knew that despite what Lily had said, she was still hoping to fix him, and she knew – she _knew_, with every logical part of her – that it couldn't be done. What she felt for Severus was a guilty pleasure, like trashy romance novels or cheap chocolate, and she couldn't pull away from it.

What distracted her, oddly enough, was the approach of Valentine's Day. She and Severus had already decided, when they met at the start of February, that they would have nothing to do with the festival. He had publicly declared his aversion to the day every year she had known him, so his scathing response to her offhand remark about Valentines hadn't come as much of a surprise. In fact, it had actually been something of a relief, reaffirming that they _were_ still themselves, even through all this madness.

The rest of Hogwarts didn't have such a laissez-faire approach to the day. The castle was in uproar, even more than most years. There were excited mutterings in the dorms and the Great Hall, notes passed in classrooms, talk of a Valentine's ball. The week before Valentine's Day, somebody – Laura suspected the sixth-year Gryffindors she saw lurking in the affected corridor – charmed one of the suits of armour to throw pink confetti at everyone who passed in groups of two or more. A Hogsmeade weekend was announced for the Saturday before Valentine's Day. Everywhere Laura looked, Hogwarts was full of chatter about Valentine's Day (or, in some cases, violent invective about where Valentine's Day could be shoved).

She'd kind of expected to understand the hype better for being in a relationship, even an unusual one, and was a little disappointed to realise that it still didn't mean much to her. For the most part, she was unaffected by the frantic gossip and debate over whether there would be a ball, who would spend the day with whom, and where the best places in Hogsmeade were for a date. Most of it, she found shallow and uninteresting. Even so, it was a better focus for her attention than Severus was. She listened to the girls in her Herbology class discussing recipes for love potions, and amused herself for the rest of the day trying to remember which of the ones they'd mentioned were real love potions, and how many mistakes they'd made in listing the recipes. She had to feel sorry for whichever boys they had their eyes on, who she had a feeling might be assailed by potions more likely to cause fits of coughing than fits of adoration. More uncomfortable was the schadenfraude, and the cynical little smirk, which lurked at the back of those thoughts. She had a nasty feeling Severus might be rubbing off on her.

They met once more before Valentine's Day, to test the effect of temperature on Calming Draughts and to share the unnerving calm of each other's presence. She shared the discussion she'd heard in Herbology, and, as she'd known he would, he smirked and even laughed a little at the stupidity of their peers. Momentarily, she felt bad for laughing at her classmates, but even a sardonic laugh from Severus was such a rare event that it had to be worth it. They turned their attention back to the Calming Draughts, and their conversation fell into focused silence as it so often did, until Laura looked up from her cauldron to ask Severus' opinion on the thought which had been brewing for a week and a half.

"The Hogsmeade trip this weekend. Had it occurred to you that I might stay behind? We could have the castle more or less to ourselves, aside from the first- and second-years. It would be an excellent opportunity to..."

"Out of the question." He cut across her as sharply as a whiplash. His voice was cool, but it was the kind of coolness which she was coming to realise hid uncertainty. Looking over at him, she saw that his jaw was set tight, his lips in a thin line. He was staring at his cauldron in a way that suggested the potion in it was personally responsible for all the world's ills, and he'd got paler, which she'd hardly thought was possible. He was, she realised with a thrill of horror, _frightened_.

She extinguished the fire under both their cauldrons with a flick of her wand, and, ignoring his irritated glare and the damage that interruption would do to their experimental results, she turned to face him. This was more important than some experiment they could always repeat.

"Why not?" she asked, very carefully. It was hard not to quail under the glower he was giving her, and harder still to make her voice calm and placating when the air suddenly seemed electric. The hairs on the back of her neck were rising.

Severus folded his arms, raising one thick eyebrow. "You appear to be forgetting the knife edge on which we walk," he said, his voice tight and strangled despite his attempts to remain impassive. "People have been asking questions. People whose goodwill is extremely important to our continuing survival. It's dangerous enough for us to be here right now, but this is a point in an established pattern, and can be passed off as such. Your staying back on a Hogsmeade weekend, particularly _this_ Hogsmeade weekend, on the other hand..."

She swallowed. She knew there was logic in what he was saying, but that didn't stop it from stinging. "You think they'll assume we're celebrating Valentine's Day in our own way," she finished, dully.

"Isn't that precisely what you were hoping to do?" Severus turned away, Vanishing the potion in his cauldron and turning to start again. The line of his shoulders, hunched almost to his ears, suggested that he was no happier about the situation than she was, but rather than that knowledge making her happy, it only made her angry. It wasn't fair that he should stand there and act as if there was no solution! They were two of the most intelligent students in Hogwarts, and he was giving up without even trying! She was angry at him for standing there and carrying on with his potion as if he hadn't just acknowledged that nothing about this relationship would ever run smoothly, at the war for destroying everything in her life with the potential to be normal, and most of all at herself for letting it affect her so much. She wanted to scream and cry and hit things.

But she was a sensible, level-headed kind of girl, so instead of hitting things, she carefully cleared her equipment away, and instead of screaming, she calmly told Severus that she thought this would be a good place to wrap up their experiments for the night, and she didn't cry until she was safely back in her own dorm, with the curtains drawn and a Silencing Charm all around her bed.

The next day, she woke up curled around her pillow with a headache and a profound feeling of embarrassment at having been so dramatic. She'd known this wasn't going to be easy, after all. She was going out with a Death Eater in the middle of a war; it didn't take a genius to know that it wasn't going to work out well – and, at the end of the day, Severus had been right. It was a bad idea for either of them to change their habits too drastically, when they were trying to avoid attention. It was, as he kept pointing out, dangerous, and the fact that he recognised that danger more than she did didn't mean that he didn't want to spend time with her – if anything, it proved the opposite, that he was willing to risk life and limb for what they had. Whatever it was they had.

It still stung. She had a nasty feeling it was going to continue to sting. In the bright light of day, though, when she was thinking straight and not choked up with disappointment and anger, it was much easier to move on from the sting, and when a group of single seventh-years asked her whether she wanted to join their anti-Valentine group on the Hogsmeade trip, she said yes almost without a second thought. Some of them, like Xiang Chang and Callum Bell, were people she knew and got on with. Others, she only knew in passing, but considering that most of the obnoxious students were either going with dates or in their own friendship groups, it didn't seem to matter too much.

That Saturday, they met in the Great Hall after breakfast. A few of their group had drifted off, attracted by last-minute dates or driven away by the realisation that someone they didn't like was going with the group, but there were still thirteen of them, a gaggle of mixed girls and boys, chattering with much the same level of excitement that any Hogsmeade trip engendered, and no more. It was curiously relaxing, Laura found, to be in a group of people who were at least pretending to be unaffected by the whole Valentine's Day business. She could breathe a little easier away from all the discussion of couples and dates, and when she looked up and met Severus' eyes across the room, she even managed to give him a smile, and be unruffled by the fact that, instead of returning it, he raised his book pointedly in front of his face.

On the way down to the village, Laura fell in step with Xiang Chang. The pureblood Ravenclaw was the only person in the group Laura was really surprised to see without a date – Xiang had been in a relationship, however brief, every Valentine's Day as long as Laura had known her – but it seemed to suit her fine. She smiled brightly, talking animatedly about the contrast between Shakespeare and wizarding writings of the time; it wasn't a subject Laura knew much about, but she listened anyway, fascinated as much by Xiang's open body language and cheerful self-deprecation as by the subject. On Xiang's other side, her friend Reena leant in to offer occasional tidbits about colonialism and sociopolitical context, which led into talking about History of Magic, a class they all shared. By the time they reached Hogsmeade, they were bandying around increasingly ridiculous theories about how Professor Binns had become a ghost, and all three of them were laughing at Reena's suggestion that one too many spitballs to the head had probably done it.

They split away from the main group at the Three Broomsticks. It was Xiang who pulled them away, blushing visibly, as soon as they stepped through the door into the pub. Laura wasn't sure who she'd seen, but whoever it was, she clearly didn't want to be in a confined space with them; she started away down the street, Reena following her, and, since they were the people Laura had been conversing with, she considered for only a second or two before joining them.

"...don't think he's half as embarrassed about it as you are," Reena was saying, nudging Xiang with her elbow.

"I don't think _anyone's_ half as embarrassed about _anything_ as I am about it," Xiang retorted, with a sheepish little laugh, and turned her head as Laura caught up with them. "Oh, Laura, hi. Are you coming with us? I mean, you're welcome, but if you'd rather stay with the others..."

Laura shrugged one shoulder, giving Xiang a smile. "I don't really like the Broomsticks," she explained, not entirely truthfully. She had been glad to leave the pub, but not because she didn't like it; it had more to do with the fact that a cursory glance had shown her about six couples in there, and while she could deal with not having Severus around, there was no sense in getting it rubbed in her face more than necessary. "We were talking about Binns?"

"Yeah, but it's kind of unfair to only complain about him, don't you think?" Xiang tossed her long hair back, combing her fingers back through it. She was still blushing a little, but she was smiling, too. "I mean, everyone acts like he's the worst teacher in the school. He's really not _that_ bad, if you can look past the droning. And the messing around in his classes."

"Like you've never taken advantage of that for note-passing?" Reena laughed, looking at Laura. "She's awful. Passes notes all the time and makes the rest of us look bad by getting perfect grades anyway."

Xiang shook her head, rolling her eyes. "They're not _perfect_. I dropped six marks on my last test. Anyway, it's not as though you don't get brilliant marks. Where are we going?"

"I rather thought you might have a plan," Laura confessed after a moment of awkward silence, and all three Ravenclaws laughed.

Eventually, they decided to head to Tomes & Scholls Bookshop, on Laura's suggestion. It was a dark, narrow shop, with antique volumes stacked higgledy-piggledy on the high shelves, and Laura had always loved it. She took a deep breath in through her nose as the door closed behind them, taking in the smell of old parchment, leather bindings, and dust, and almost laughed as she heard Reena and Xiang do the same. Liking the smell of old books was, apparently, a Ravenclaw trait.

Tomes & Scholls was disorganised and musty, and bigger than it looked; given the diminuitive size of the building it was housed in, Laura had a suspicion that the apparently endless shelves might be the result of some kind of Extension Charm. Xiang vanished into the depths of the shop to look at a set of poetry books which had caught her eye, while Laura started to work her way through the shelves, glancing up and down to see what looked interesting. Reena lingered near the windows, pulling down a thick, purple-bound book and paging through it.

It was easy to lose track of time, in the warm, comforting surroundings of the antiquitarian bookshop. Laura had no idea how long she'd been there, looking through the beautiful antique copies of potions manuals (and maybe wondering, a little guiltily, whether she could afford one as a late birthday present for Severus) when Reena suddenly whipped her head around. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Laura looked up from where she knelt at the bottom of the shelves, frowning.

"I..." Reena shook her head, like she was trying to dispel an illusion, and leant up on her toes to look over at Xiang. "Neither of you heard that?"

Xiang, lost in her book, didn't respond. Laura straightened up slowly, a horrible, unsettled feeling starting to swarm in her gut. There was a realisation there, on the edge of understanding, dancing just out of reach. Something to do with Severus. Something to do with what he'd said.

And then she caught hold of the thought, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. "Reena," she said, trying not to let her voice shake. "Reena, I think we ought to..."

The explosion of glass and books drowned out what she was saying. She dropped instinctively, covering her face with her arms as the shards of shop window showered around her. Looking up, her breath caught in her throat as she struggled not to panic, she looked straight into the shadowed eyes of a Death Eater.


	24. Smoke & Mirrors

**24 - Smoke & Mirrors**

The tinkling of the glass falling around them sounded absurdly cheerful. Laura was dimly aware of warm blood trickling down her arm and soaking into her robes, but that seemed muffled and unimportant. It would be nice to say that she scrambled to her feet, grabbed her wand, fought back with everything she had. In fact, though, something seemed to have jammed in the cogs of her mind, and all she could do was cower, looking up at the Death Eater.

He was tall, made taller and more intimidating by her position on the ground, and despite the bagginess of his robes, he was clearly slender. Under the deeply shadowed cowl of his cloak, all she could see was a silver death's head, a stylised skull which grinned at her maliciously, glinting in the dim light of the shop. His wand was raised, pointing first at Reena's prone, bleeding form, then directly at Laura herself. She hardly noticed. Her heart was caught, fluttering frantically, in her throat, but she wasn't looking at his wand, but at his eyes. She had to squint to see them in the darkness under the eyeholes of his mask, but she could see enough to know that they were blue – a pale, icy blue, flat and cold. On her knees in the chaos of the shopfront, with a Death Eater taking a breath and starting to mouth _Avada..._, she nonetheless felt an odd kind of relief. _It's not him. Thank Merlin, it's not him_.

"_Stupefy!_" The yell was ragged and loud; the red bolt struck the Death Eater in the shoulder, sending him reeling but not knocking him down. His wand flicked away from Laura, his attention turning to Xiang, pale and breathing heavily behind an unbalanced stack of nineteenth-century treatises.

"_Fuego!_" the Death Eater snapped almost calmly. The Fiendfyre scorched above Laura's head, a billow of heat and painfully bright light, and the bookshelves went up like candles. It was that, more than anything, that snatched Laura out of her trance, and she scrabbled in her robes to retrieve her wand, as Xiang screamed the counter-curse over and over again with limited success. The Chinese girl was clearly panicking, and although the counter-curse extinguished the Fiendfire on the third try, there were still flames licking up from the priceless volumes on the shelves. Choking on the smoke from the potions manuals she'd been admiring, Laura struggled to think clearly.

Xiang was ducking and weaving, her Quidditch instincts coming to her rescue as the Death Eater shot curses after her. Reena lay horribly still by the shattered window, and, outside, Laura could hear other voices rising in panic, other curses being thrown. Willing herself to shut them out, she closed her eyes tight and raised her own wand. Her voice came out as a croak, her hand unsteady; she'd never been good at battle magic.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

"_STUPEFY!_" Xiang yelled again, at almost exactly the same time. Laura opened her eyes as the Death Eater's wand skittered onto the glass-covered floor against her hand. A split second later, the man himself hit the floor, with a solid, crunching thud that made Laura wince in sympathy, despite herself. She was already scrambling to her feet, though, her breathing heavy and her heart thudding like a wardrum, joining Xiang in trying to extinguish the fires licking eagerly at the books. She knew they ought to grab Reena and run for it, but something deep in her rebelled against letting all that knowledge crumble into ash. Xiang obviously felt the same, because although Reena was her closest friend, she was making the books her priority, too, coughing and waving smoke out of her way. The books were dry, and they burnt quickly. Reena could wait a few moments, but the shop couldn't.

When all the fires were out, Xiang and Reena stood facing each other, bloody and black with ash, in the smoke which swirled around the shop. Both were breathing heavily, casting frightened glances at the unconscious Death Eater.

"We ought to tie him up," Xiang said, after a moment. "Or something."

Laura nodded, wiping her smoke-stung eyes, and started towards the broken window. "You do that," she agreed. "I'll check on Reena. Then we need to get back to Hogwarts, get her to the Hospital Wing..."

Xiang took a step after Laura, shoes crunching on the glass, and looked beseechingly at her friend's unconscious form, but then she nodded. Of the two of them, Laura was the one who'd studied Healing spells, the one who'd worked in the Hospital Wing. Both of them knew it made sense for her to take responsibility for Reena, and Xiang to take responsibility for the Death Eater. Still, knowing that Reena was Xiang's best friend, Laura felt a little guilty for being the one to kneel beside her and, sickeningly, make sure she was still breathing.

Thankfully, not only was Reena still alive, but most of her injuries seemed shallow. The slick of blood and shallow cuts from the glass made it look worse than it was; she'd been knocked unconscious when the explosion of the window had thrown her back against a shelf, but her pulse was steady and she was breathing fine, although she was losing a lot of blood and had been quite badly burnt by the Fiendfyre. Laura turned and gave Xiang an encouraging little smile as the Chinese girl hurried over, the Death Eater now bound and hidden behind a slightly fire-marked stack of books.

"Dr Scholls is going to have a hell of a mess to clear up," Xiang said, with a slightly frantic giggle, as she looked around the chaos of the shop. Outside, there was an explosion and a loud scream, and most of a lamppost flew past the window, cutting Xiang's laughter off short. When she looked at Laura, her face was pale and wan, her dark eyes feverishly bright. "What's the plan? Do we just make a break for it?"

Laura peered out at the fighting down the street – Hogwarts students and villagers struggling together, but mostly lost to sight in the blasts and bright flashes of curses - and weighed the suggestion of staying right where they were until help arrived. Looking around at the smoking stacks and the cowled man behind the stacks, though, she found that the last thing she wanted was to stay.

"We've got to get Reena back," she agreed, swallowing. "You take her, we'll make a break for it. Chances are they'll be too busy fighting to see us. If they do, we split up – you take Reena back to the Hospital Wing, and I'll run in a different direction. Okay?"

Xiang opened her mouth, then looked down at Reena, gulped sickly, and nodded. "You ought to take her, though. I should stay and fight, you'll be needed back at the Hospital Wing. Plus, I'm a faster runner, so I can..."

"That's exactly why you need to take her." Laura pushed herself to her feet, her hand tight around her wand, her blood pounding in her ears. "You're faster and you fight better, so it's better if you're with her if we've got to split up. Anyway, she's your friend. Come on." There was a harshness creeping into her voice which, looking back later, she would remember with a cold horror; it sounded like Severus at his worst. But she had no time for patience, and no time to wait. They'd been lucky to take the first Death Eater down, but if he escaped, or if another trapped them here... They had to leave _now_.

Xiang seemed to understand that, too, because she didn't waste time arguing, just lifted Reena with an unsteady flick of her wand and crept towards the window, peering out. "One..." she murmured back to Laura. "Two... _now_!"

They bolted, Xiang lifting Reena out through the window while Laura hauled open the shop door. Down the street, the raid was still going on, screaming and cursing filling the air even thicker than the smoke. Following Xiang as closely as she could, Laura almost tripped over the bloodied body of Dr Scholls. Her stomach lurched, and she dropped back for a few paces, hand over her mouth. The old man's arm was torn almost off his body, and there was a deep slash in his throat. She hesitated, wondering whether she could help him, and by the time she realised he was already beyond help, Xiang had vanished from sight, taking Reena with her. Laura struggled not to panic, both hands wrapped around her wand now, her breathing shallow and harsh. She'd never been one for fighting. She wasn't ready for this.

_But you don't have to fight_, she reminded herself firmly. _Just run, for Rowena's sake! Run!_

She ran. Around her, as she dived down a back alley, the air was filled with flying curses and dust. It stung at her eyes, just as the bile stung at the back of her throat. She knew she should stand and fight, that by running she was doing exactly what the Death Eaters wanted, but terror drove her on, as did the thought of the black crust of blood forming on Dr Scholls' throat. She'd never seen death so close-up before. The war had never come so much to their doorstep.

Right towards the main street. Left, lurching away again as she realised she was running closer to the battle. She rounded a corner, feet thudding as loud as her heart, eyes half-closed and streaming with tears. Although it wasn't warm, sweat beaded on her skin, stiffening the back of her neck. Her breathing sounded wild, like a hunted deer. She knew nobody would be after her particularly, but that didn't stop the fear that rose up in her, visceral and instinctive. She ducked down a cobbled little alleyway, swung right as the Shrieking Shack came into view, and screamed out loud as she was grabbed by the arm and pulled hard against the wall. A hand slapped none too gently over her mouth, cutting off her scream. Her eyes bulging, her heart hammering against her ribs, she held her breath and tried to calculate the chances that she could hex her assailant before they hexed her. She barely saw the flash of green light splatter against the wall where she'd been about to run, and it took her a long moment to register that her assailant had saved her life.

The hand over her mouth relaxed slightly, but her arm was still held tight. Her eyes darted over her attacker – her saviour – taking in the darkly shadowing cowl, the silver mask, the black robes. Again, her stomach flip-flopped. There were several possibilities running through her head of why he would have saved her, and each one only made her want to vomit more. Then her eyes darted down to the hand on her arm, bony and white and scarred from potions-making, and the worst possibility was confirmed.

"Stay here," Severus hissed, his voice echoing strangely from behind his mask. "I'll draw them off. Give me twenty seconds, and then run to the castle." With that, he pulled away, letting go of her mouth and her arm. The second her mouth was uncovered, Laura doubled over and retched, but Severus didn't stop to help her, drawing his wand as he darted on down the alley.

Throwing up the contents of her stomach took a little more than twenty seconds. When she was done, and all that she was heaving was bitter bile, she straightened up, unsteadily, and stumbled into a run. The images of Dr Scholls, of the burning books, of Severus' hand clamped over her mouth, followed her like laughing ghosts all the way back to the castle.


	25. Crossing The Line

**25 - Crossing The Line**

When Severus returned to the castle, it was in uproar, which made it easy for him to slip in unnoticed and settle into the Slytherin dorms as though he'd been there all day. His tattoo itched, but not as much as his conscience, which was a much deeper itch and harder to scratch. He quashed it, as always, by reminding himself that he'd done what he had to, and anyone else in his position would have done the same.

The Slytherin dungeons were much calmer than most of the castle. Most Slytherins, after all, were purebloods who hadn't been targeted by the attacks, even if they hadn't been directly involved in them. Severus settled down on his bed, trying to relax, and cracked open the book of curses he was halfway through, but – unusually – his conscience continued to nag at him.

It was Laura. That was the problem. It wasn't so much that he'd seen her – after all, if he hadn't, Nott's Killing Curse would have struck her full on – but that he'd let her go down to Hogsmeade in the first place. _I did what I had to_, he reminded himself again, but it rang hollow. Yes, he had taken the only way that made logical sense. If he'd taken her up on her offer to stay with him, then he wouldn't have been able to slip away to take part in the attack, and that would raise questions. If he'd warned her, then the attack would have failed, and that would have done more than raise questions – it would have raised a death squad out for his head. He _had_ to let her go, he _had _to let her take the risk...

...But she'd doubled up, heaving and retching, and for a moment he'd felt like raising questions would have been a small price to pay to keep her away.

He shook his head, irritated with himself, and tried to focus on the book. He couldn't keep thinking like this. It was going to get him killed. He had to forget about her, or at least drive her to the back of his mind like he managed to do with Lily. He was in too deep to risk throwing it all away now, especially for some fatuous schoolboy romance which, like his feelings for Lily, would no doubt end in tears anyway. The important thing – the _only_ important thing – was to survive this war, and come through it with his power bolstered. Everything else was secondary. Laura had to become secondary.

He shifted slightly, turning a page although he hadn't read it, and ran a hand back through his greasy hair. Outside the drawn curtains of his bed, he could hear Avery and Mulciber talking, celebrating the success of their sting attack. It was quite possible that he ought to join them, if only to allay suspicion, but he really wasn't in the mood.

His mood wasn't much improved by the next morning, which washed over the school in mourning grey. The attack on Hogsmeade was not only on everyone's lips, but on the front page of the _Prophet_, under a headline reading _Six Killed In Death Eater Attack_. Breakfast was a muted affair, with enough people missing to be notable; halfway through the meal, Dumbledore rose to announce that, in honour of the two students killed, it would be a day of mourning for the whole school. Severus joined in the exaggerated groan and collective eyeroll which ran across the Slytherin table, but his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't see Laura anywhere.

After a brief breakfast, which he left early because he was so fed up with the funereal atmosphere, he peeled away from his compatriots to head towards the Potions dungeons. They weren't, technically, in use on a Sunday, but he and Slughorn had come to an arrangement in fifth year which essentially meant the Potions dungeons were always open to Severus. In fact, that they were closed was a positive advantage, since it meant he could run some experiments and clear his head without having to deal with anyone else. He stopped at the Potions cupboard outside Slughorn's office to retrieve some of the rarer ingredients he planned on using, then turned toward the classroom where he usually worked.

There was an envelope pinned to the door. A simple, white envelope, with one word on it: _Severus_.

Frowning, he set down his cauldron and ingredients and reached out to tug it off the door. The letter inside, he realised with an odd sinking sensation, was in Laura's handwriting, small and cursive and to-the-point. _Astronomy Tower, 10:00. We have to talk about yesterday._

With a sigh, Severus leant back against the doorframe, balling the note up in one hand. So much for his day of quiet reflection. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 9:45; if he was going to meet her as she'd asked, he couldn't linger in the dungeons. The thought crossed his head that, if he didn't go, he could pretend the whole mess had never happened, and that he hadn't found the note. It would be simpler that way. He didn't want to talk to her about having saved her life. He certainly didn't want to talk to her about what had led up to it.

Before leaving, he carefully replaced the ingredients and his cauldron in the Potions cupboard, then incinerated the note.

Laura was predictably punctual. When Severus arrived on the roof of the Astronomy Tower, glancing back over his shoulder one last time to check that nobody was around, she was already waiting for him, sitting with her back against the wall. She greeted him with a little nod, but without a smile. Severus' heart sank.

"You shouldn't leave notes lying around like that," he told her, nerves making his voice sharper than he'd intended. "What if someone had found it?"

"I charmed it so only you could read it." She raised one eyebrow, her expression eerily reminiscent of his own, and shook her head. "I understand that you're intelligent, Severus, but I'm hardly stupid. And, after yesterday, I can hardly avoid knowing how high the stakes were." Now she looked away, shifting slightly, and he saw how pale and wan she still looked. She looked as though she hadn't slept since the day before, which he thought bitterly was probably true. Not that it was his fault, but he did wish he'd been able to protect her from it.

He nodded, sitting down next to her, his habitual sneer gone for the moment. "Of course you did," he muttered, watching her closely. Her soft jawline was tensely set, her brown eyes downcast, her hands twisting in her lap. He remembered, with a nasty jolt, the bolt of green that would have hit her the day before, the sick tightness in his throat when he'd realised just how close she'd been, how if he'd been a second later... "But you're all right," he said, as much to himself as to her. "I saved you."

Her silence wasn't an invitation to speak. Even with his admittedly poor social skills, Severus could tell that. Her silence was closed, hostile, razor-edged. Had she learnt that from him, or had it been in her all along? When she spoke again, her voice shook a little, and she screwed her eyes closed. "You didn't save anyone else, though, did you? Not Dr. Scholls, or Madame Riddell, or that Williams girl in fifth year? You didn't save any of them, did you? Just me."

Severus prided himself on his intelligence, on his ability to read situations, but even so he was nonplussed. He frowned, unpleasantly surprised by the accusation in her voice. He'd expected her to be angry at him for being there, but he'd also expected her to be intelligent enough to understand that...

"I couldn't." His voice came out flat, even a bit defensive. "What, did you expect me to run around in plain sight, sweeping people up and... I'm not a _superhero_, Laura. I'd be dead before I'd done more than make them angrier."

"You could have." This was worse, because her voice wasn't accusing any more, just sad. She pushed herself to her feet, away from him. "You knew this was going to happen. You must have been preparing for this for days, at least, maybe more. That's why you wouldn't let me stay back here, so that you could slip away and join the rest of them. Isn't that right? You knew, you prepared, you could have _told_ someone! Dumbledore, or any of the faculty, or Lily, or... or me. You could have told any of us. You could have _stopped_ it."

That was too much. Severus all but leapt to his feet, the injustice of it all choking him. "You can't pin this on me," he retorted, his voice taking on that cold sharpness which kept him from shrieking. "You can't act as though it's all so simple. That's you being _childish_, Laura, and nothing more. Yes, I might have told Dumbledore – not that I trust him as far as I could throw him – or the faculty, or Lily, or you. And then what? I would be in Azkaban. Or – oh, hadn't this occurred to you? – they would know that a student had leaked the information. The Dark Lord is a Legilimens, were you aware of that? One of the strongest there is. And when he found out he'd been betrayed, he would make Azkaban look like a summer getaway. And for what? So that one attack could be rescheduled? So that people could die somewhere you didn't have to look at them?" His lip curled. "I'm supposed to lay all my cards on the table, put myself in a position where Azkaban is the best scenario, for _that_?"

She didn't slap him so much as punch him. It was a clumsy blow, without finesse, but it had all her weight behind it and he hadn't been expecting it; it sent him stumbling, his tooth cutting into his lip and his cheek stinging numbly. Blood filled his mouth, thick and salty and all too familiar. Catching his balance, not without difficulty, he stared at her. He knew there had to be a cutting retort somewhere, but it wasn't coming. All he seemed to be able to do was gape, his stomach turning in shock and betrayal, his eyes watering from the blow. "You..." he managed, at last, but she cut him off.

"I've been trying to understand you, Severus. I've been trying to understand how you... how you can possibly..." She swallowed, meeting his eyes, and all the softness was gone from her face. "I've been excusing you and feeling bad for you, and I know your life hasn't been easy, and I know that all I look like to you is a spoilt little child. Here's the thing, though. I've met your father."

He opened his mouth again, his shock rapidly turning to anger, but Laura was in full flow, and she wouldn't let him get a word in.

"I've met your father," she repeated. "I wanted to see what made you so hurt, so _angry_, and I thought I knew, I thought, how can you expect him not to be hurt, with a father like that? I know you don't want to be like him. Well, congratulations. You're not like him. You're _worse_."

Shock and anger were both met by a dam of nausea, a swell of emotion too strong to identify, and Severus sagged back against the wall again. Her words came as an even harder blow than her punch had. His mouth worked silently, but all that came out was a dribble of blood and a small, wounded noise. He could hardly focus on her, but he heard her parting blow:

"You ought to be grateful," she said, quiet again, as she opened the door that led down from the tower. "You wanted a way out of associating with me. Now you don't have to worry about that any more."

The door slammed behind her, and Severus was left standing dumbstruck, his lip swollen and his face aching. Inside him, a half-forgotten part of him curled up foetally and cried.


	26. Unattended Wounds

**A/N:** Sorry! I thought I'd already posted this. Mea maxima culpa.

* * *

><p><strong>26 - Unattended Wounds<strong>

It had been a stressful couple of days, and that was putting it mildly. As Head Girl, Lily had been expected to keep a clear head and take an active role in marshalling her fellow students into something like calm, while as a girlfriend, she had been busy berating James for putting himself so much in the line of fire the day before. As a friend of several people now in the Hospital Wing, she was worried; as a student, she was in mourning; as a person, she was enraged. The Death Eaters had come to Hogsmeade, right on their doorstep, and nobody had stopped them.

Mostly, though, she was just exhausted. The last two days had taken it out of her, and she was just heading to the Gryffindor common room for a well-earned rest when she saw Laura. The Ravenclaw was at the bottom of the stairs which led up to the Astronomy Tower, sitting on the lowest step with her face in her hands, clearly crying. That worried Lily. There were girls in Hogwarts who it was normal to see sobbing on stairs, and Laura was decidedly not one of them.

"Reena's all right," she said as she sat down next to the smaller girl, taking a wild stab at what was making Laura so upset. "You were with her, right? Well, she's woken up now, she's walking around, Pomfrey says she should be fine." Stifling a yawn, she put a cautious hand on Laura's shoulder and gave her the most reassuring smile she could muster.

Sniffing, Laura turned her head to give Lily a watery little smile in return, but shrank away from the hand on her shoulder. With a little frown, Lily withdrew the hand. "When was the last time you slept?" she asked cautiously, looking at the dark circles under Laura's eyes.

"I'm all right." Laura shook her head, then choked out another little sob and buried her face in her hands again, with a shaky little laugh. "All right, maybe I'm not. But look, it's just..."

"I know," Lily said, with feeling. "Yesterday shook us all up. I know it's not easy to deal with, and it's okay if you need to cry about it, all right? We're all still reeling."

Laura's laugh, thin and brittle, took Lily by surprise. "That too," she said, and met Lily's confused frown with a sidelong, tearful smile. "Severus and I... well, I suppose you could say we've gone our separate ways. And I said some things to him that, well, I suppose he deserved them, but they weren't like me. They were _cruel_. I was angry, and I was upset, and I..." She took a shaky breath, and this time, when Lily put her arm around her shoulder, she didn't move away.

Lily's mouth twisted inadvertantly, her tiredness almost forgotten for the moment. Pulling Laura a little closer, she closed her eyes. "I know the feeling," she said quietly, after a moment. "He gets under your skin after a while, and then you snap and you say the kind of things _he'd_ say, and then it all gets worse from there." She should probably have left it at that, helped Laura get a glass of water and clean herself up, and then gone on to the common room and put her feet up. The trouble with that, though, was that this was her responsibility. On top of her duties as Head Girl, as a friend, as a girlfriend, as a student... on top of all that, there was the duty she'd picked up all on her own initiative, that of matchmaker. She couldn't just walk away from the mess she'd made now, having done nothing but make Severus _and_ Laura more miserable.

"I'll talk to him," she said eventually, with a wistful thought towards the common room and the nice comfortable chair by the fire. "If you'd like, I mean."

For a long moment, Laura was quiet, then she glanced back up the stairs, shrugging one shoulder. "Do you think it'll do any good?" she asked dully. "You and I both know that he isn't the best at listening. And maybe he deserves to hurt," she added, apparently as an afterthought, with a rather hard look to her face.

Lily frowned. It would be so easy to agree, to turn her back on the whole thing and write it off as a sad failure. After all, hadn't she known from the start that this would happen? James had seen it coming. Snape had seen it coming. Apparently, everyone except Laura had seen it coming. It had been inevitable, and, really, the miracle was that it had taken so long for her stupid plan to backfire spectacularly. This was the time to step away, admit defeat, and admit to what she'd known all along; that she was being stupid to think that Snape could change, or that it was all right to pull someone else into the mess of his life.

Which was, in the end, exactly why she stood up and turned to the stairs, taking a deep breath. "He's on the Astronomy Tower, yeah?"

"You don't have to..." Laura started, then shook her head again, running both hands through her hair with a little sigh. Lily wasn't sure, but she suspected she had that face James kept making fun of, the one that meant she was going to go through with this no matter what anyone else said; that was probably why Laura nodded, standing up. "On the Astronomy Tower," she agreed. "Unless he knows a way down that I don't."

"Laura?" Lily was already several steps up, but she turned, looking down at the Ravenclaw. For a moment, she struggled for what to say. There was more to this than Laura could possibly know, and at the same time, Lily had the horrible feeling that she didn't know most of what mattered, either. Eventually, she settled for "...I'm sorry. For all this mess. Listen, you know where to find me if you need any help, all right? And Reena's asking for you, when you feel ready to talk to her."

"It's not your fault," Laura replied, but Lily felt the other girl's eyes on her while she climbed the stairs, long after they were out of sight of each other. It _was_ her fault, she knew that, and the more she knew she should leave well enough alone, the more her Gryffindor stubbornness rebelled against the idea of admitting that the whole idea had been a massive failure. _I can at least check it out,_ she told herself, as she climbed the stairs. _What harm can that do?_

As it turned out, the harm it could do started as soon as she opened the door onto the roof, as soon as she saw Snape curled against the wall, staring up at the sky with a split lip and a bruise rising on his cheekbone. That image hit her like a fist to the gut, so that she stumbled back half a step and had to grab the bannister for support. In her mind's eye, she traced the bruise on the cheek of the little boy in her photograph, the little boy who was smiling despite everything, and she felt sick.

This boy, the real, flesh-and-blood Severus Snape, wasn't smiling. Far from it. His jaw was tight, his eyes looked damp, and when she opened the door, he turned his head and gave her a glare that combined naked anger with a guarded kind of fear. He looked, she thought with a strange blend of pity and irritation, like a child in the middle of a tantrum.

"What did you do to her?" she heard herself saying, as if from a distance, as she closed the door behind her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He looked away from her, back up at the sky, his long hands limp against his knees.

Lily sighed, crossing the roof to sit opposite him, with her back against the wall separating them from the high drop. "Sev," she said, clearly – and did his stony expression flicker for a moment at that, or was it wishful thinking? "Sev, I may not know Laura very well, but I know her well enough to know that she wouldn't be shouting and hitting you in day-to-day life. And I know _you_ well enough to know that you can lie much better than you just did, which means don't want me to believe it. What happened?"

There was no answer. Severus went on staring up at the sky, stubbornly silent, his flat expression not faltering. His lip was swollen, and there was a crust of blood on his chin, which he wasn't wiping away. Lily sat and watched him, outwardly calm, but inside, her frustration with him was rapidly growing. He was sulking, just like he'd done as a child, trying to hold himself aloof. She'd once found it oddly endearing, but now it was just annoying.

"Don't tell me you called her Mudblood as well," she said at last, trying and failing to meet his eyes.

That seemed to bring Severus back to life, if only so he could fix her with a glare. "Don't tell me you still consider that more than a momentary slip, Evans. I knew Gryffindors were good at holding grudges, but..."

"But nothing." Lily folded her arms, glaring right back. "See, Severus, this is your problem. This is _exactly_ your problem. You _slip_. Only the problem isn't that you slip, it's what it shows underneath."

"I didn't ask for your advice, Evans," Severus said coldly. "You're sticking your nose where it's not wanted, again, and you're overreacting."

Lily's mouth worked for a moment, as she tried to find the words, and she got to her feet. "I'm sticking my nose in because you made Laura Baines cry, and I am sick of worrying about the mess I made, and, Godric knows why, I actually wanted to help you. Honestly, I don't know why I bothered. You've never listened to me before, it's not like you'll start now." She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Maybe I am overreacting. But you're _under_reacting. Look, I don't know what happened with you and Laura, and I don't think I want to, but just from what I've seen, it's pretty clear you didn't learn a bloody thing from what happened in fifth year. You still think it was about one stupid word I've heard a million times before? You think I'm that bloody _fickle_? Grow up, Severus."

She'd already opened the door onto the stairs, and was several steps down, when Severus called her name after her. Turning, she saw him in the doorway, silhouetted against the winter sky. She rested her forehead against the cool stone of the wall for a moment, gathering herself up, then started back up the steps, stopping a fair distance from him with one eyebrow raised.

"If it wasn't about calling you a Mudblood," he said, sounding remarkably vulnerable, his usually crisp voice thickened by his split lip, "what was it about?"

Lily hesitated a moment. Her first instinct, driven by tiredness and frustration and more than a hint of vindictiveness, was to tell him to work it out for himself. After all, as far as she could see, it was obvious. But she'd come up here to help, and this might be the only time he would be prepared to listen. Sighing, she headed back up onto the roof, slipping past him through the doorway and leaning back against the wall. He turned to watch her, his black eyes wary, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I thought you were going to change," she said at last, bluntly. Maybe she should be tactful, but she didn't have the energy or the patience to sugar-coat things. "I thought that maybe the way you treated me was you trying to be a better person. I know your life's been hell, Severus, I was there to watch it. But you made friends with those Slytherins, and they didn't help you get better, they made you worse. When you called me a... when that happened, I couldn't keep telling myself you were changing any more." She'd never said this out loud, and she'd rather expected it to take a weight off her when she did. Instead, putting it into words seemed to make it heavier, and her throat was burning with two years' worth of pent-up emotion. "I knew you were only being halfway decent to me because we were friends, or maybe because you wanted to be more than that, I don't know... but it wasn't because I was a person. You've never been good to people just because they're _people_, and I didn't want to sit around for the rest of my life knowing you were only halfway decent to me because you put me on a pedestal, and, Severus, it _hurt_. Knowing you were making yourself not think those things about me, knowing I'd failed as your friend, knowing you were never going to change, it _hurt_. I'm not a damn angel, Severus. I can't be perfect. When I'm hurt, I get angry, just like you did, and there was never a reason to stop being angry, because you never _apologised_. You never _changed_."

She was breathing heavily. Her eyes stung, and her fists were clenching and unclenching at her sides. For a moment, she went on staring at her feet, then she risked looking up at Severus. His jaw was tight, and he'd set his lip bleeding again somehow; there was a little bead of red tracking hypnotically down his pale chin.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, so quietly she almost didn't catch it.

It was so tempting to accept that, to not acknowledge the raw pain it set off in her chest, to pretend that it made everything okay. But Lily shook her head. "So'm I, Sev. But sorry isn't enough. Especially not after this long."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" How long since she'd seen him with his guard down like this? Years, she thought. Before Hogwarts, if it had ever happened at all. "How am I supposed to make it up to you?"

She swallowed. It wasn't an easy question, and his strange unguardedness only made it harder. She didn't want to blow him off, not when he seemed so abnormally genuine; if she wasted this chance, she'd never forgive herself. The only trouble was, she didn't know what the answer was. She had a horrible feeling that there might not be one. He was expecting forgiveness, she knew, but when she probed to ask herself what he could do to earn it, all that came up was that years-old ache of betrayal, the hurt that swamped her and made it hard to imagine forgiving him. He'd turned his back on her just when she needed someone to be close to, when Petunia wouldn't talk to her any more and James had been driving her round the bend.

"Stop making it up to me," she found herself saying, and wondered why that was what had come out. Thinking about it, though, it made sense. She rallied herself and tried to explain what she'd meant, as much to herself as to him. "Stop making it all about me. Or all about Laura. Or all about James or your dad or whatever. We're not... I mean, you're talking like I'm all that matters, and the thing is, I'm not. I'm not special. Don't," she added, raising her finger, as Severus opened his mouth to protest. "I wasn't special when we were kids, and I'm not special now, and I'm so bloody sick of feeling like I'm responsible for you, and I bet Laura is too. So, okay, you want to know what you're supposed to do? Listen. Just... just bloody _listen_, okay? I mean really listen. Take it on board. What you need to do is _grow up_."

Severus blinked, his heavy eyebrows drawing together, and ran his hand back through his greasy hair. "You can't say that," he said, rather faintly. "You have no idea how much I've had to... how much I've grown up since..."

"See that? That's exactly what I mean." Lily sighed. "Stop making excuses. I know you've never had it easy, but you don't make it easier for yourself. You keep blaming other people, acting like you're being dragged everywhere you go. You know why I'm dating James, when I never dated you?"

"Because he's better-looking?" Severus muttered. Lily elected to ignore that, because if she thought about it she was going to get angry again, and plunged on.

"Because he's changed. He's still an arse sometimes, and, yeah, he's kind of spoiled and arrogant, but he's an _adult_. He's learnt to see past just himself and what he wants. He sees me as a person. I get the feeling you don't. That's all I'm saying, Sev. You can't keep on only doing things that get you what _you_ want. I get that you think it keeps you alive. But trust me, okay? It'll keep you alive, but it'll keep you alone, as well, and that's not a life worth living." Her sigh this time turned into a yawn, which she stifled self-consciously behind her hand, starting towards the door again. "Think about it."


	27. Truth, Lies, & Rumours

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in updating. I was finishing a novel draft (!) and also doing RL university stuff. So, sorry it's taken ages to update, and that it's still such a short chapter. Nonetheless, I hope you like it. :)

* * *

><p><strong>27 - Truth, Lies, &amp; Rumours<strong>

Laura spent the rest of the day with her head held high, trying not to think about anything that had happened. Her fist had gone on stinging for half an hour after she'd hit Severus; she wasn't a violent person, and she hadn't quite judged it right. She got no satisfaction out of her brief glimpses of Severus skulking around with a fat lip, either, only a sick guilt and a nagging dread about their next Potions lesson.

And then there were the rumours. Sitting in the Hospital Wing with Reena and Xiang, she had missed the start of them; she was busy feeling like a third wheel while the other two comforted each other and Xiang held Reena's hand. She finally left them when their Slytherin friend, Veda, turned up, and it became doubly clear that whether or not she was wanted, she wasn't needed. Still, she was one of the better student Healers, and she spent the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing, hardly aware of the time passing, moving like an automaton. When she eventually left, it was only because Madam Pomfrey all but pushed her out of the infirmary, clicking her tongue and muttering something about silly teenagers thinking they didn't need food and rest.

Dinnertime conversation was muted, of course, and mostly about the attack. Mostly. Moving slowly, feeling strangely disconnected from herself, Laura took a moment to realise that there were whispers passing around the table as she sat down. She blinked, shook it off, and reached for a dish. It was probably nothing.

It wasn't until Carrie King, a fifth-year Laura knew from the library, leant over and asked under her breath, "Is it true? Is it true you hit Snape?" that Laura realised what was going on. Her stomach dropped like a lead balloon, and her hand tightened a little on her fork.

"What?" she hissed back, shock and fear making her sound more vicious than she'd intended. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't been thinking about the consequences – no, scratch that, she hadn't been thinking at all. Even if she had, though, she wouldn't have expected news to travel this fast, or for people to care about it after such a catastrophe. She and Severus were supposed to be nonentities, the overlooked ones. She might have expected it if she'd hit Potter or Avery, but...

"Well, he's got a bruise and a split lip and he didn't this mornin'," Carrie told her, pointing, ripping Laura out of her panic. Laura barely glanced in the direction of the Slytherin table, and saw nothing of Severus but his bowed head, his face hidden by lank black hair. Swallowing down the guilt that brought up in her, she tried to think rationally and quickly of how to respond. She was usually a truthful person, but telling the truth here could be hazardous.

"Why are people saying I did it?" she asked. She sounded strange to her own ears, but Carrie didn't seem to notice. "I mean, we're potions partners, and other than that I barely know him... I haven't even seen him since Friday."

"Really?" Carrie looked skeptical, her glasses magnifying her frown. "'Cause Jane Swift, in Gryffindor, says she saw you crying on the Astronomy Tower steps, and then Bones saw Snape come down the same stairs, like, half an hour later, so..."

"Oh, come on!" It came out louder than Laura had intended, and fell into the hush at the Ravenclaw table so sharply she swore she could hear the echo. Blushing, Laura lowered her head, and repeated a little quieter, "Come _on_. We're Ravenclaws, for Rowena's sake. You can't see that something like that doesn't even count as _nearly_ evidence?"

She faltered. A slow, knowing smile was spreading over Carrie's round face. Laura wasn't sure what she'd said wrong, or where she'd slipped up, but she didn't like the look of that smile.

"Don't worry," Carrie whispered, in a conspiratorial tone. "Everyone's well impressed."

Somehow, that felt far worse than any accusation. Laura turned away and twitched her knife and fork together, feeling sick to her stomach. Glancing back over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table in hopes of catching Lily's eye, she instead met the stares of the three remaining Marauders; neither Lily nor Potter were at the table. Carrie touched Laura's arm, making her jump.

"You all right, like?" the younger girl asked, her voice high and concerned. Turning around, Laura saw that Carrie's face was the picture of worry, her mouth in an O, her long nose wrinkled slightly. "I divvan mean... it's no big deal, you know? If you did it. Or, or if you didn't. Heard someone say it might've been Evans," she added helpfully, and gave Laura a hopeful smile.

Laura shook her head. She could taste bile in the back of her throat, and it was giving her a nasty reminder of how she'd retched and vomited in Hogsmeade the day before, and _that_ was making her think about the whole thing again, and now her head was spinning...

"Don't think I'm well," she heard herself say, as if from a long way off. "I should... I'm going to go to bed. Sorry." When she stumbled upright, her thigh struck the table and sent the cutlery clattering, and she almost tripped over the bench on her way out. She thought she heard someone laugh. Her eyes burned. Someone was talking, near her ear; someone touched her arm. Her legs felt like jelly as she staggered towards the door.

Looking back on it later, she could hardly remember whether she'd walked to the dorms alone, or whether she'd had to be helped. She knew, though, that she'd collapsed on her bed as soon as she was upstairs, horrified by her own inability to cope, haunted by the fact that it had taken her this long to really have a reaction, and unable to put her finger on what it was she was reacting to.

_This was my fault_. It was irrational, and she knew it, but the thought kept recurring. _This was all my fault_. What good had it done to get angry at Severus that morning? It had been too late then. Six people had already died. _And it was all my fault_. If she'd been a better friend to him, if she'd made him feel like he could trust her, if she'd somehow come between him and the Death Eaters...

_No. No, that would never have worked. You know what you should have done, what you needed to do to save them._

Of course she did. Alone in her dorm, with the evening light spearing between the closed curtains of her bed, Laura lay staring up at the ceiling. Of course she knew what she should have done.

She'd known he was a Death Eater for months now. How long had he known this was going to happen? How long had she been letting him get away with murder?

When she finally slept, she dreamed of Dr Scholls, blood dark on his throat, clearing up the mess of his bookshop while his torn-off arm dangled by a thread. She woke up in the darkness, breathing heavily, and found she was crying.

Oh, Merlin. What had she done?


	28. Tightrope Walking II

**28 - Tightrope Walking II**

Laura couldn't sleep. For four nights after the conversation with Severus, for four long and guilt-ridden nights, she couldn't sleep. Slowly, life in the castle was returning to normal, or at least a reasonable facsimile of normal. But there was a muted shock about the place, and faces missing from classes, and Laura couldn't sleep.

People were starting to notice. For the first time, she was neglecting to hand in her homework, and her work in classes was taking a visible nosedive. She wasn't the only one, though. All around the school, the people who'd been in Hogsmeade seemed to be in shock, late or missing from classes, emotionally fragile and with their concentration shot. The atmosphere was brittle, on the edge of snapping, and Laura wondered whether it would always be like this, or whether her own distraction was making it seem worse than it was.

She took Pep-Up Potion every morning, borrowed from Xiang, who seemed to have a never-ending stash. She didn't like needing it, but when she was working on maybe an hour of sleep a night, it was necessary. It wasn't like she could stop and explain what was keeping her up at nights. How could she explain that she might have been able to stop it? That the names of the dead and injured were constantly echoing in her head, as if she'd thrown the curses at them herself.

_Did he kill any of them? And, if not then... has he killed before? How many? How many people has Severus Snape murdered?_

She knew she was being ridiculous, stupid, counter-productive. Having worked out what she should do, the only ethical thing to do, she wasn't actually _doing_ it. She could have reported him to the Ministry by now, an anonymous tip-off or a signed owl, it didn't matter. She could have told Dumbledore, or pulled up his sleeve and shown the world his tattoo. And yet, she hadn't. She couldn't. Every time her mind went there, it rebelled, and she remembered the surprising softness he'd shown at odd moments, the mournful look in his eyes when he thought nobody was looking, the squalor and misery of his home, and the soft frown he got when he was dealing with a difficult problem, in the stillness of the potions dungeon while they ran their experiments. That was the boy she loved, and one of her closest friends. That was the Severus she wanted to keep safe.

He wasn't evil. He wasn't some faceless, masked villain who threatened schoolchildren and killed old men. It was impossible to reconcile Severus, quiet and soft-spoken and intelligent, with the idea of a Death Eater, violent and cruel and bigoted. For the first time, too late, Laura really understood the desire people had to simplify the situation. If she had been able to convince herself that because Severus was a Death Eater, he was _ipso facto_ evil, this would all be so much easier.

But she couldn't. She couldn't betray him, when he'd been betrayed all through his life. She couldn't live with the guilt if he went on siding with murderers, knowing she could have stopped it. She couldn't trap him in Azkaban, where he would have to deal with his father's memory every moment while his memories of her and Lily were sucked away. She couldn't.

She just _couldn't_.

Her life seemed to be grinding to a halt. Classes which had been easy before were becoming an uphill battle she was losing; she was losing weight with alarming speed, getting pale and sick-looking; her whole mind, her whole life, was taken up by the insoluble problem of Severus. Xiang was the first to confront her about it, when Laura came to her for Pep-Up for the fourth morning in a row.

"You sure you want it?" she asked, pulling the bottle out of her drawer with a concerned frown. "I mean, no judgement, just... this isn't like you, Laura. Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine. Fine. I'm fine." Laura managed to meet Xiang's disbelieving stare for all of five seconds before she cracked. "All right, I'm not fine. I don't know. I think I'm just... I haven't been sleeping too well lately."

"Me neither," Xiang admitted with a sigh, slipping the bottle back into the drawer and sitting down on her bed. After a moment, uncertainly, Laura sat down with her. It wasn't usual for Xiang to admit to weakness, even this much. Laura had been starting to think, against her better judgement, that she might not even _have_ weaknesses. Yet here she was, clearly affected by everything that had happened, and openly admitting to not being perfect.

"It's been hard on all of us," Xiang said, when they'd been sitting there in silence for a moment. "But, listen, Laura, you're going to give yourself a nervous breakdown like this. You shouldn't be drinking Pep-Up, you should be drinking a Sleeping Draught or something. Reena has been, and I think some other people might have, as well."

_Have you?_ Laura wondered, looking at the other girl with new eyes. Xiang looked as flawless as usual, hair brushed, makeup done, tan skin smooth and carefully washed. Had she been taking potions to keep herself so seemingly together?

If she had, was it working? Or did she cry into her pillow when the curtains were drawn, and hate herself for not having fought harder, and flash back to the bookshop and the broken glass?

"It wasn't our fault," Xiang murmured, and Laura thought it might have been for either of their benefit. "We got Reena out. We Stunned that Death Eater. We saved the bookshop. We did everything we could possibly have done." Her arm went around Laura's shoulder, and Laura struggled not to cringe away. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it wasn't Xiang's fault, but the attempt at encouragement made Laura want to vomit. Xiang had done everything she could have done. Xiang had got Reena out, had Stunned the Death Eater. Xiang hadn't had any way to stop it happening.

"I know," Laura managed to mumble at last, through lips that felt suddenly numb. "But..."

"But nothing." Xiang sounded more certain now, more like her usual self. She gave Laura a smile, watery but definite. "Listen, Laura, we're all in shock. But we've just... sometimes, we've got to pull ourselves through on our own power. I know we can do it. All of us. We're going to be okay."

"I hope you're right." Laura took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "You're right. Of course you're right." There was something forming in her head, not quite a thought, not quite a plan, but something still unshaped, and she needed to act on it. _On our own power. My own. By myself. _Swallowing, she pulled herself away from Xiang and stood up.

"You don't want the Pep-Up, then?" Despite the fact that Xiang had been the one to mention it, she looked rather concerned by the thought, half-rising from her bed towards Laura.

"No." Laura shook her head, trying to order her thoughts. "Yes. Maybe. Can I get back to you on that? You're right, I need to fix my sleep."

_Not with a Sleeping Draught, though_, she thought, as she headed for the door, still in her pyjamas. _That won't do it. Not for this_. She did head for the Hospital Wing first, though, and pick up a bottle of just that. It would still do better than nothing. Besides, it killed time while the note she'd charmed flew through the school towards Severus.

He met her, as she'd asked, in the Potions dungeons. It was still very early, and the dungeon was mostly dark. The stone floor was cold on Laura's bare feet, and she was chilled to the bone through her flannel pyjamas, but she hardly noticed. Faced with him, tall and pale and with the bruise on his cheek still just about visible, she couldn't swallow around the lump in her throat. She didn't know what she was going to say, or how to say it. She was drifting, clinging at the threads of an idea, and she hated it.

"Well?" he drawled after a moment, his voice cool. "Did you want something, or did you just call me here so you could split my lip again?"

The injustice of that flared up angrily in her chest, and she narrowed her eyes at him. She knew she couldn't be very intimidating, short and weak as she was, barefoot and pyjama-clad and with her hair in a mess from tossing and turning all night. She didn't care. She was infused by the same kind of frustrated anger that had incited her to hit him, and she suddenly had a hold of the answer that had been trying to form in her mind.

"I'm here," she said, aware of the tremble in her voice, "to tell you what you've done."

Severus' eyebrows raised, "I thought you already did that," he replied, but she could have sworn she heard a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. "Listen, Laura, if this is still about Hogsmeade... I'm sorry, all right? Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry. So you can drop it already."

"Sorry won't bring them back." She looked down at the floor, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Sorry won't let me get to sleep at night. Sorry won't make this not have happened. And sorry," she added challengingly, looking up and meeting his eyes, "won't stop it happening again. Will it?" He didn't answer. "_Will it_?"

Severus' guard dropped a little. She could see it clearly in his face, in how heavily his eyebrows drew together, in the way his mouth shifted from a sneer to a frown, the way he lowered his head. He was ashamed, she thought – ashamed because he knew she was right. His dark eyes glittered, unreadable as ever, but less inhuman.

"I can't," he whispered, and his voice shook a little. He wasn't meeting her eyes any more. "I can't stop it happening, any more than you. I'm not... Laura, please."

"How many people have said _please_ to you, Severus? How many of them have begged?" She was crying now, barely aware of it, tears trickling down her cheeks and splashing onto her bare feet or soaking into her pyjamas. "I don't know you. Severus, I had you in my _house_. With my _parents_. How many people like them have you killed? How many people like me?"

He half-raised his hands, as if to touch her, then let them drop back to his sides. Other than that, he didn't move, standing rooted and horribly vulnerable in the middle of the dungeon.

"I'd never hurt you, Laura," he croaked, his bravado and sarcasm entirely gone. "Never."

"I didn't ask you that." Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she raised her head, tossing her hair back, and tried to recapture some kind of certainty. "How many, Severus?"

"Six." It was barely a breath. "Six I helped to kill. Two I killed myself." He didn't meet her eyes, turning his head away in shame. Laura felt her chest constrict, her stomach churning. She'd expected a number like that, or more, but against all the odds, she'd hoped he'd tell her it was none, that he'd never do that. She wanted to believe he'd never do that. Her Severus would never do that.

Like the first time they'd kissed, she could feel the precariousness of her position. She was too high, with no way down but falling. But now the tightrope was thinner than ever, and it was starting to fray. Her voice didn't sound like her own any more. She couldn't meet his eyes, as if she was the one in the wrong, as if she was the murderer. In a way, maybe she was.

"I'm going to tell them," she told him, her voice sounding thin and flat in the dizzy heights of her predicament. She moved a little to meet his eyes, inadvertantly stepping closer to him in the process. "Severus, I can't... it's going to keep happening, isn't it? You're going to keep killing people. And it's going to be _my fault_." It was hard to talk around the thick clog of tears in her throat; hard to think through the haze of self-hatred for what she was saying. "So I'm going to tell them. You've got one week. You should probably run." That was a whole new kind of pain, an agonising twist in the gut, like a hot knife. "Or kill me. I suppose you could kill me."

She was still looking up at him, but through the mask of her tears, she couldn't see his expression. She could hear the despair and the pain in his voice, though, and that was bad enough. "I can't," he whispered again, hoarsely, and she knew he was crying, too. "Never."

"Then you're going to have to run." She dashed the tears out of her eyes, biting down hard on her lip, and looked up at him. "I don't want to hurt you, Severus. I love you. But I _can't_, I _can't_ just not do anything..."

"I know."

She hadn't expected that. She blinked at him, too shocked even to know what she felt, too shocked to keep on crying. She'd expected him to rail against her, to threaten her, to plead. She hadn't expected, wouldn't have expected in a million years, that he'd _understand_. It only made the knife twist deeper, made her betrayal feel worse. But what else could she do?

The Sleeping Draught wasn't enough to let her rest easy that night.


	29. Blackthorn Winter

**A/N:** Whoop, been a while! Actually, this author's note is just a comment on the chapter title, since I'm aware it's not a hugely well-known concept; a blackthorn winter is a period of very bad weather around the time the blackthorn/sloe is in flower, i.e., March-April, and usually marks the worst part of a winter (also called a lambing winter, at least around here). Just so we're on the same page on this one. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>29 - Blackthorn Winter<strong>

Outside, there was a howl from the direction of Hogsmeade, like an animal in pain. Since last year, that sound had usually made Severus' skin prickle into a cold sweat, but now, although he was awake and out of bed, he didn't even hear it. He sat in the Slytherin boys' bathroom, in the dark, with the door locked. Watery moonlight filtered in through the frosted glass window, but it only intensified the shadows in which he sat, wand across his lap, head bowed, bare feet visibly as ghostly pale echoes against the floor.

A week. He knew Laura less than he'd thought, since she'd surprised him so totally with her ultimatum, but he suspected he still knew her well enough to know she'd meant it. He had a week, and then his life here was over. Either he fled, and spent years if not forever as a fugitive haunted by his own cowardice, or he stayed, and the Dementors would have him. The Wizengamot weren't exactly noted for their lenient sentences, especially not when the accused was someone as disposable as most of them would suppose him to be. His connections, painstakingly built over years, wouldn't get him through there, and the Dark Lord might show a surprising amount of faith in him, but Severus wasn't deluded enough to think his salvation was going to come from that direction. So. He went on the lam, or he went to Azkaban. Either way, he'd be losing the only life he'd enjoyed and the only home he'd ever known. Either way, he'd lose his pride and the delicate webbings of power he'd built up since arriving here.

A week. Did she have any idea what she was condemning him to? Had she ever walked a tightrope as fragile as the one he spent his life on? Could he plead with her, make her see what she was threatening, cajole or threaten or coerce her into backing down? Couldn't he show her that what she was condemning him to, whatever he did, was a fate worse than death?

_Of course,_ he thought dully, as the wolf howled again, _there's always death instead. For her or for you._

"No." The whisper, harsh and sharp, burst out of him and rolled around the little cubicle. He screwed his eyes closed tightly, nails digging into the threadbare flannel of his pyjama bottoms. No. That wasn't an option. Killing himself would be worse than running – more useless, more defeatist, the worst kind of cowardice. As for killing Laura...

He didn't think he could. Not that he was too scared, or that he wasn't more than capable of the spells required. He knew how to kill, and how to make it look like an accident, if he had to. He could poison her food, arrange an accident, use a cursed item that anyone could give her. He could... and yet he couldn't. _Avada Kedavra_ wouldn't work on her; the will to kill just wasn't there. There was no way he could bring himself to do it.

Maybe, he thought desperately, he could get someone else to do it. He had the connections, ruthless friends who were looking for an excuse, a whole range of possible assassins. But to do that would mean he lost control of how much of the story came out, and that, too, was unacceptably dangerous.

A week.

Outside, there was third howl, more distant, joined by a second voice. This time, Severus heard it, and it brought the answer to him like a lightning flash. Sitting there in the dark bathroom, his hands shaking so much it was a miracle he didn't drop his wand, Severus pressed his eyes closed and felt the tears seep slowly along his cheekbones.

He didn't cry for long. He didn't have the leisure of misery. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now.

In the Ravenclaw tower, Laura was no doubt sleeping, he thought as he swept his outdoor cloak over his pyjamas and worked his feet into the shoes. He was going to have to be stealthy. This, more than anything he'd ever done before now, needed to be handled with care, no matter how much he dreaded it. He might never forgive himself. He might never be forgiven. But it had to be done.

Like a shadow himself, Severus slipped out of the Slytherin dungeons, into the vaulted darkness of the corridor outside and the slivers of blueish light cast by the full moon.

...*...

Even for a Scottish March, the morning was cold. It bit to the bone, frozen teeth sharpened by the damp air, and seeped through the poorly-insulated stone walls of the castle. The Great Hall and the main classrooms were warm and light, as always, but the corridors were filled with whistling splinters of wind. Frost drew delicate sketches on the leaded windows. Severus lingered by one of the glassless arches that viewed across the lake, looking out at the ice-edged grass outside, where the outlines of footprints were still just visible. The corridor behind him was empty; most of the school were at breakfast, or on their way there, taking routes that were less exposed to the weather.

"Blackthorn winter." Regulus had come up beside him unnoticed. It wouldn't usually have happened, but Severus' alertness was dulled by exhaustion, and he jumped visibly before he could get control of himself.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply, struggling not to snap. It was bad enough that the shadows of sleeplessness showed under his eyes, making him haggard and old-looking; he didn't need to give Regulus any other reason to wonder why Severus Snape was so out of sorts.

Regulus' silvery eyes turned on him for a moment, and then the younger boy shrugged, turning to look back out of the window. "Just making an observation," he said in his measured, level way, pointing towards the lake. It took Severus a moment to see what Regulus was indicating; a low shrub, barely visible over the brow of a slight hill. If he squinted through the grey morning light, he could see that the whiteness on the shrub's branches wasn't just ice; the sloe was blossoming, carrying the first little white flowers.

"You didn't come here to point out flowers," Severus said bluntly, turning to look down at Regulus. Something was knotting in his chest, a feeling of dread. After what he'd done the night before, it was inevitable. Besides, Salazar knew his last conversation with Regulus hadn't turned out well. The younger Black was far too observant for Severus' liking. It made him a valuable ally, but when you were walking lines as dangerous as Severus was, it also made him a worrying acquaintance.

But Regulus only met his eyes calmly, and short of Legilimancy, Severus couldn't for the life of him read what was written there. "You're far too suspicious, Snape," he said mildly, turning and resting his back againt the pillar of the archway. "I go to breakfast this way most mornings, particularly when we have Quidditch practice. I find it helps one to gauge the weather and go prepared. Currently, we're heading into a blackthorn winter."

"You do realise," Severus said, almost too tired to summon up scorn, "that the weather isn't actually ruled by what flowers are out, don't you?"

Regulus cocked his head slightly, a mannerism unnervingly common in his brother, and turned back to look at the little sloe bush. "It's March," he observed, "and yet it's only getting colder. The worst of the winter's still coming." Just as Severus was starting to wonder whether this was some uncharacteristically poetic warning, the younger boy's gaze snapped back onto him. "Someone who was deciding to wander out in the middle of the night might want to consider that. Just as they might want to consider improving their stealth. Don't look at me like that, Severus. I'm a prefect. It's my job to spot students out of bed past curfew."

"And you do take pride in your jobs, don't you?" Severus grumbled under his breath, as frustrated by his inability to hide his shock as he was frightened by the implications. "All right. I was out of bed." _Nosy little bastard,_ he thought fiercely, and in a tone that struck him as horribly familiar. "What about it?"

Now Regulus turned to look up and down the corridor, the first indication he'd made that he was speaking in confidence. Apparently satisfied that it was empty, he turned back to Severus, lowering his voice. "I don't pretend to know what you're up to, Severus, and I don't presume to find out. When I'm intended to know about it, I'll be told. But for Salazar's sake, Severus, be careful. You're not trusted any more, and you have to realise that, since the Hogsmeade attacks, all the prefects are on high alert. Whatever he has you doing, I would like you to realise that prefects and staff may be more of a threat than he suspects."

Severus had to fight to keep from laughing. The raw, hysterical feeling bubbled up from deep inside him, humour fed by something much less pleasant. Regulus thought he'd been sneaking around last night on the _Dark Lord's_ say-so. It was so far from the truth that he half-suspected Regulus of trickery, but if so, it was a trickery that was very out of character for the scrupulously honest prefect. It took Severus a moment before he trusted his voice not to give any of that away. He felt as though something had loosened, just a little, in the tight-wound mechanism of his nervousness. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, after a moment. "I wasn't under the impression that I needed advice from some sixth-year brat whose place is only secured by his good family name."

That was unusually direct for him; Severus was usually careful not to show his contempt for the people he was currying favour with. But that sudden lightness of his chest, his tiredness, and how utterly torn he was over what he'd done the night before, all combined to make him lack the patience for games. Regulus looked a little surprised, but not hurt, and his pale face only registered emotion at all for a brief moment. "I count you as a friend," he said quietly, pulling away from the pillar. "You may count that as something of an oddity, and I'm afraid that I am still unable to consider you a class equal. Snape, after all, is not a good name. But you have a strong mind and a sensible bend, and I suspect that if you were willing to lower yourself to chess, you might prove my equal or superior in such pursuits of the mind. That counts for a great deal. I would consider it a loss not only to our cause, but to the world at large, if that mind should be torn apart in Azkaban." A rare smile played at the corner of the younger boy's lips. Severus didn't like it. Sardonic and secret, that smile looked all too much like Sirius'. "Even," Regulus continued in the same level tone, "if you might want to work on your honesty a bit. You've been thinking that about me all along, I take it?"

Severus shrugged one shoulder with a tight, sidelong smile of his own. "I don't know what I think about you," he said, honestly. "I wish you'd stop sticking your nose into my business, though."

With a little shake of his head, Regulus turned away. "I'd rather not spend all morning crossing swords with you," he said over his shoulder. "I've said my piece. I'm going to breakfast. Are you coming?"

Severus cast a brief glance back at the melting frost and the now-invisible footprints, then looked away again to follow Regulus towards the Great Hall. They walked in silence that was neither companionable nor hostile, and parted at the full Slytherin table, making for their habitual seats without another look at one another. Now that the immediate danger was over, the hysterical side of Severus' feeling's were starting to subside, but they only gave way to gnawing doubt and the slowly rising panic that had been haunting him since the small hours of the morning. There was no going back from what he'd done. Right or wrong, permanent or temporary solution, however much it might sting, there was no going back.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Dumbledore at the professors' table. There was a glint in the Headmaster's blue eyes that was visible even from this distance, warm and almost reassuring. Its knowing quality sent a shiver down Severus' spine, and he looked away quickly, wishing he had enough appetite to distract himself with food.

_He knows. He knows everything._

_Oh, Merlin. What have I done?_


	30. Lines in the Sand

**30 - Lines In The Sand**

She looked down at her hands, turning them over in her lap. The delicately sketched creases on her palms seemed foreign somehow, a map to somewhere she didn't recognise any more. Once, when she was little, her parents had taken her to a summer fete in Hertfordshire, where an old woman draped in shawls and golden jewellery had traced the lines of her plump little hands. That had been before Hogwarts, of course, and before she knew there could be magic, but although she knew now that the fortune-teller hadn't been a real witch, there was still a kind of magic in the memory. The old woman had gone through all the usual – a tall, dark stranger, a new path to take, grave danger but also glory, and _see here, a deep heartline, here in the left hand_ – but what had struck Laura wasn't what was said, but the whole idea. That your future was written in the palm of your hand. Even after years of magic she could never have imagined, that was one thing she didn't believe, but it was an interesting thought.

The lines in her hands hadn't changed, although there was a long burn mark on the heel of one hand where she'd knocked it against a hot cauldron that morning. They were still the same hands. She was still the same person. But something, she knew, was permanently changed. She kind of wondered, if she went back to the fortune-teller now, what she'd be told. What would the old woman see in her face, in her hands, to build up a fortune from? Would she still talk about new paths and tall dark strangers? Would she be able to tell Laura what she was supposed to be doing?

Merlin knew Laura couldn't tell herself that. She could only sit there, staring at her hands, while Fawkes sat and preened in the corner and Dumbledore regarded her, blue eyes steady and unsmiling for once, over his half-moon glasses.

Eventually, she managed to regain control of herself. It came out in a croak, but she got the words out: "What do you mean, you know?"

Dumbledore unsteepled his fingers to push a little bowl towards her. "Have a sherbet lemon, Laura."

"I, uh... No, thank you, Professor." She swallowed, clenching and unclenching her fingers reflexively in her lap, her eyes lighting for a moment on his face and then fixing themselves firmly onto the bowl of yellow sweets. Like the lines in her hands, they looked somehow unfamiliar, like she was looking at them from an angle a step away from normal. She hadn't thought that the world could shift so absolutely, so quickly.

"I insist." Dumbledore was smiling again as he plucked a sweet out of the bowl, bony fingers twiddling deftly at the cellophane, and popped it in his mouth. "Don't tell me you don't like sherbet lemons, Miss Baines?"

She considered telling him that she didn't, although that wasn't true, or just snapping at him to get to the point. But, after all, he was the headmaster, and, odd as he was, she guessed it might be best to play his game. Trying to relax, the stiff back of the leather-upholstered chair digging against her spine, she leant forward to take a sweet. It took her longer than it should have to unwrap it; her fingers were shaking a little. "What do you mean, you know?" she repeated, quieter now, less urgent. "How?"

"I was told, of course." Dumbledore stood up, chuckling, and turned his back on Laura to stroke Fawkes' head.

"...Told." Her voice shook a little, dull with surprise.

"Oh, yes. It was very cloak-and-dagger. Your friend does have quite a flair for the dramatic, doesn't he? I wonder whether he might not be more comfortable in the theatre than in a Potions dungeon."

Laura choked on her sherbet lemon. The hard sweet bruised against the back of her throat, lodging there for a moment as she coughed and struggled for breath, her face going red with exertion. "_Severus_ told you?"

"Are you all right, Miss Baines?" Dumbledore leant across the desk with every appearance of concern, conjuring a glass of water and holding it out for her. "Take a drink. Slowly now, that's right. Yes, he did tell me, and I assure you I was every bit as surprised by it as you are. You must have put him in quite a bind."

This time, Laura managed not to choke, although it was an effort. The redness which had been starting to ebb out of her cheeks was back with a vengeance, out of embarrassment rather than effort this time, and she ducked her head, swallowing her mouthful of water hurriedly. "I didn't... I mean, I _did_, but I thought he'd... I didn't think he was going to..." Taking a deep breath, she said in a much smaller voice, "What are you going to do to him? Will he go to Azkaban?"

"Hardly." Dumbledore sighed, returning to his seat. When she peeked up at him, his forehead was creased deeply, and his smile faded. "Whatever mistakes he may have made, Mr Snape is still a student of mine, and I have no intention of allowing him to be taken to Azkaban. In fact, I see no reason for the Ministry to be involved at all, do you?"

"But..." Laura didn't know what she was going to say, torn between wild relief and horror at how lightly the Headmaster seemed to be taking all this. She was saved from trying to finish her sentence, though, by a silencing gesture from Dumbledore.

"In strict confidence, Miss Baines, I have been facing a serious dilemma here, but nothing like as serious as it would have been if I'd heard it from you first. That Mr Snape came to me himself, even aware of the dangers, and told me the truth... well, I'd say that bodes well for his intentions, wouldn't you?" A little smile, but without that usual laughter in his eyes. In fact, for all his earlier lightness, Laura thought she'd never seen the Headmaster look so tired. "I believe the best of you both, Miss Baines, and I fully intend to discuss this further with our mutual friend. I must ask you, though, to watch for him. You never know. One man can sway the direction of a war."

It took a moment for that to sink in. When Laura worked out what he was saying, though, her jaw tensed so sharply that the remains of the sherbet lemon shattered loudly in her mouth. Although she'd been drinking just the moment before, her mouth felt dry, the acerbic horror of the thought sucking up her saliva. She'd wanted Severus to get away, somehow, impossibly, and she'd wanted him to change his ways, but... "You're talking about _using_ him?" she whispered, horrified. "He's not even out of school yet! He's..." She bit herself off before she could plead the things she guessed he hadn't told Dumbledore; that he was hurt, lonely, still childish in so many ways. It wasn't how she wanted to feel about someone her own age – not to mention more intelligent and self-possessed than she was – but after what she'd seen at Spinner's End, she wanted to protect Severus. She'd wanted to help him move on. But not... "You want him to _spy_? What about if he's caught – _when_ he's caught? You want him to keep on pretending to be on their side? Keep on taking part in... in what they do?" She could feel her stomach twisting, taste acid in her mouth. She looked for the denial in Dumbledore's face, and didn't find it. The sweetshop smell of Dumbledore's desk suddenly seemed overpowering, like rot. "You can't. You _can't_!"

"It was his idea," Dumbledore said smoothly after a moment, as though he'd been waiting to make sure she was finished. Laura stiffened in her chair, but didn't contradict him. "He came to me the other night and said to me 'Headmaster, I want to help'. His exact words." There was something patronising under the soft look he gave her, or was she imagining it? "Did you expect anything else from him, Miss Baines? Be honest."

Laura opened her mouth to say that of course she had, and then closed it again. _Had_ she? What had she expected? For him to run? No, not Severus Snape. He wasn't a coward, and he was far too scared of becoming one to ever run away like that. For him to kill her? Not seriously. Not when she'd seen his response to the suggestion. He might have Obliviated her, or blackmailed her out of it. And yet... no. She didn't think so, not really. He'd been betrayed too many times to turn betrayer. Anyone else might have thought that of him, but she knew him better than that.

The only option she'd left him was Azkaban. So he'd made his own option, as he did, wormed out of it again. And, she realised, it was the best – the _only_ – thing he could have done. She'd forced him into it, made his dangerous situation more dangerous, and she was sorry, but she was oddly glad as well. Dumbledore was right. It boded well.

"Nobody else knows?" she said at last, very quietly indeed.

"Not unless he's told somebody else." Dumbledore's face made it clear how likely he thought that was. "I doubt anybody could force something out of our Mr Snape without his consent. Even Voldemort might have a little trouble."

Laura smiled. It was only little and brief, the faintest twitch at the corners of her lips, but it was the first time she'd smiled since walking into the Headmaster's office. It vanished almost immediately though, and she met Dumbledore's eyes over his spectacles, biting her lip. "He'll be all right, won't he? He's clever, and he plays his cards close... he'll be all right." It was almost a plea. She needed to be reassured, to be told that of course he would. Severus Snape was a survivor. He survived his father, he survived Hogwarts, he could survive this too. She needed to hear that said.

But instead, Dumbledore sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Miss Baines... I think you and I both know it's too soon to tell."

She left the towertop study with her thoughts scattered, staring down at the lines of her hands and wondering whether, alongside the line for life and the one for love, there was a mark on your hands for treachery.


	31. Shielding

**31 - Shielding**

After the meeting with Dumbledore, Laura didn't hang about. Less than an hour later, she was in the Potions dungeons, talking to Slughorn in a voice which kept trying to shake. It wasn't a long conversation. No changing seats this late in the year, he said almost apologetically, and besides, why wouldn't she want to stay sitting next to Snape, hmm, when the pair of them were guaranteed top marks if they stuck together? This delivered with a smarmy smile and a look which suggested that he didn't think her grades wouldn't matter much either way. Clever she might be, but Laura had never been one of the favoured few when it came to Slughorn. Usually, she was glad of that – she found him slimy and his ingratiation bad enough when it was aimed at Severus, let alone her – but just now, she wasn't so relieved. She was sure that, if she'd been one of the Slug Club, he'd have done something to help the situation out, no questions asked. As it was, when she weighed the options, she decided that even if she stood about and argued the point, it wouldn't be worth it. She wasn't a good liar, and she couldn't breathe a word of the truth.

Instead, flushed with frustration and embarrassment and with her fingers still shaking slightly from the talk with the Headmaster, she excused herself and made a beeline for the grounds. She didn't know where she was going, or what she was going to do now, but it was a muckily grey day, and that meant outdoors would at least offer some breathing space. Normally, she was quite sociable, but when it came to this, alone had to be better.

She was wandering along the edge of the lake, picking at the creases of her hand with a thumbnail, when Severus caught up with her. He was out of breath, unusually for him, and there were high, hectic spots of colour on his sallow cheekbones. With a brief, furtive glance around them, he dropped into step beside her. His hair was tied back in a tight knot at the base of his neck, and his old leather shoes were splashed thick with mud.

For most of a minute, they walked in silence, broken only by his slight panting as he got his breath back. Turning to him as she walked, Laura took him in. He'd lost weight, and where he'd been skinny before, now he looked downright bony. Even the flush of exertion couldn't make him look healthy – in fact, if anything, it made him look sick and feverish. There was a healing cut on the line of his eyebrow, which he touched ruefully when he saw her looking.

"Potter found me lurking around the Headmaster's office," he explained. His voice was wary, his dark eyes narrow. They darted around like a bird's, as if he was gauging her mood, as if he was prepared to flee. "Luckily, Potter isn't the type to ask questions first. Sometimes, it's quite a relief to have a giant lummox as our Head Boy."

Laura couldn't help wincing a little. "I don't think he's..." she began, and sighed, staring at her feet. Her hands dropped to her sides, thumbs running over the seams of her robes anxiously as she looked at Severus from the corner of her eyes. "He's not stupid, Severus. Don't make that mistake, okay?"

Severus' expression told her that he had a few choice words to say to _that_, but although his upper lip twitched back from his teeth a couple of times as if it were half-trying to form words, he didn't comment. Instead, after a few more seconds had whistled by on the cold spring wind, he beckoned her down next to him, behind the convenient cover of a sloe tree.

"I assume he told you," he said softly, when they were both settled on the muddy ground. The boggy grass sloshing up around them wasn't comfortable, but that was the least of Laura's concerns.

"You should be very glad I'm not Lily," she said. She was going for cool and level, but it didn't entirely work; her voice shook, and the words caught on the lump in her throat. "Because if I was Lily, I would have hexed seven kinds of hell out of you by now. Severus, what the hell are you _thinking_? You can't just..."

"Shh!" He put a finger sharply to his lips, black eyes glittering. Even from a few feet, she could see that his nails were digging into his palm, his fists were clenched so hard. There was a sick gratification in the fact that, although he disguised it better than she had, his voice sounded choked and hoarse as well. "Shh," he repeated, and his hand dropped into his lap. "Hang on a moment."

Fists clenched in her damp, mud-splashed robes, Laura watched Severus move into a crouch – shifting produced a squelch which under any other circumstances would have been funny – and draw his wand to cast a few charms around them. A couple she recognised – common enough, in a school, to want to make yourself inaudible and unnoticeable. Other charms, though, were a mystery to her. _Extracurricular_, she thought, with a dark kind of humour that felt unnervingly close to hysteria. She refused to let herself give in to that, though. Biting her lip, she kept her eyes and her focus on him until he settled back down, still as far from her as he could get in the cover of the sloe.

"You can't," she repeated, a little less frantically, when he seemed to have settled. "Severus, I didn't want... you're a _child._ We're _children_."

"Technically speaking, I'm an adult," he said. She recognised that voice. That was the cold, hard voice he pulled over him like armour when he really didn't want to be having a conversation. He wasn't meeting her eyes, either. He turned his head away, but the difficulty he was having in controlling his emotions was still audible, a whisper of hoarseness at the back of his voice, something Laura couldn't have put her finger on but could certainly hear. "I don't know what you want me to do. I can't help them. I can't help you. I can't do nothing. If you didn't want me to do this, Laura, what in Salazar's name _did_ you want me to do?"

"I just wanted you to..." she began, and trailed off. The tears were starting again. Clamping down on them, she cleared her throat and tried to ignore the prickling of her eyes. "I just wanted you to be _safe_, Severus."

"You're about seventeen years too late for that," he said acidly, and the bitterness stung her like a slap to the face.

"Severus..."

"You lost the right." He raised his voice over her, leaning in a little now, hands on his knees. "You lost any right to judge me, any right to tell me what to do, when you went to see _him_." The last word was spat like it had the power to scar, and Laura suddenly remembered, with a sick drop of the belly which overwhelmed even her tears, that talking to Dumbledore wasn't the only treachery left undiscussed.

"I..." Laura heaved a deep breath, her ribs feeling too tight for her lungs, her eyes burning. She felt like she was choking on the tangled mess they'd woven between them. She could see this escalating into another fight, or, worse, herself being browbeaten into accepting all the guilt. Screwing her eyes closed, she tried to remember that she wasn't the only one to blame. _Takes two to tango_, as her mum had always said. "Severus," she said at last, straining to be calm and reasonable and gentle, "Severus, I know that was wrong. I shouldn't have gone to Spinner's End. But, listen, you have to understand..."

"I do understand," Severus said. The worst thing was, he didn't say it in that cold tone, and he didn't raise his voice over hers. It was little more than a whisper, dull and choked, and that was far worse. "But if you understood why I did the things I did, that wouldn't make it all right to you, would it? I understand why you went to see Tobias. I understand why you did this to me, too. That doesn't make it all right." He took a deep, slow breath, and the mud under him squelched as he moved to stand. "This is my life, Baines. I never asked for you to get wrapped up in it. I certainly didn't ask you to start taking responsibility for me. If I'd known what I found in your head was going to turn into this, I never would have let it get this far. Whatever's happened between us, you need to understand that _I don't need you_. I don't _want_ you. I make my own way. Always have. Are we clear?"

She almost said yes reflexively, and if she had, she would never have forgiven herself. Instead, she shook her head once, less as a negative and more to try and clear her thoughts, and bit down on her lip until it stabbed with pain. "Liar," she said, louder than she'd expected, her voice cracking.

Severus raised his eyebrows, his lip curling into a sneer. "Excuse me?"

Her robes weighed down by mud, Laura scrambled to her feet, stepping a little closer to him. With a good ten inches in his favour and her round face still flushed and teary, she couldn't have been very intimidating, but he still took a tiny step back. "I said you're a liar," she repeated, and stepped a little closer. "If you didn't need me, I'd be dead, or at least Obliviated."

"Or maybe I only needed the push to do it anyway," he challenged, but he didn't move away. Laura half-raised a hand, then lowered it again. He was lying. She knew he was lying. But she also knew Severus, and he was one of those people who only hardened the more you tried to beat them down. Pushing the point wouldn't help.

"Fine. Say you did." Her voice lowered a little. "If you didn't need me before, you do now."

Inasmuch as someone as sallow as Severus _could _pale, he paled. "I know you're capable of many things," he said, sharper than ever, "but I never suspected you'd have such a faculty for blackmail."

"What?" For a moment, Laura was genuinely confused. She blinked owlishly, and an age seemed to pass before she cottoned on. "_What_? You think I'd sell you out? After all this?"

"Frankly, yes." There was a familiar wryness to Severus' voice, but it wasn't as comforting as it might have been; that odd, indefinable timbre was still in his voice, that sense of vulnerability.

Laura folded her arms, chewing on her lip. "Severus," she said, surprised by how much more level her voice was already, "you've just done the bravest thing I've ever known anyone to do, stuck your neck out for what's right – even if I _did_ blackmail you into it – and you think I'd really... I'm not that bad, Severus. You don't really think I'm that bad. Do you?"

He sagged. It was eminently visible; he looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut, all the tightly-wound tension gone. He really wasn't standing much less straight than most students, but he'd been ramrod-straight as long as she'd known him, and even that little slouch was an event. "I don't know," he said, one bony hand wrapping around his other wrist. "I don't think I know you well enough, really. I thought maybe I did, but..."

"Severus." Now it was her turn to cut over him. With a sudden surge of courage, she closed the distance between them, her chubbier fingers interlacing with his around his wrist. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, hoping that he would somehow see her sincerity in them. "I know you're not going to trust me. Not after all this. But just... please believe me. I want you to be safe. I want the war to be won, I want us all to be alive and You-Know-Who to be gone, and I want you to be safe, Severus. I'm going to protect you." She hadn't thought it through before saying it, and the last bit sounded so laughable that she actually had to stifle a snort. As if she was going to be able to protect him. He was the Death Eater here, the Dark Arts student with fighting experience and the callousness to take someone out if he had to. She was small and quiet and had no real strength for curses, and for once, she didn't even have superior brains to offer.

But maybe that wasn't what he needed. Maybe those weren't the kind of enemies he needed protecting from. All she knew was that, if she could, she wanted to protect him. He made her angry, he frequently made her feel terrible, and he was a harsh, unforgiving person, but under all that, there was something softer. She'd seen it, and she'd loved it, and especially if he was going to keep crushing it down as he'd been doing all his life, she was going to _protect_ it.

"I'm going to protect you," she repeated again, softly. Severus' eyes had gone very wide, and she could see herself reflected in them, a moon-faced girl with blotchily flushed cheeks and messed-up hair. She tightened her grip around his wrist. Despite all that, it wasn't until they kissed and she felt the hot saltwater trickle onto her face that she realised he was crying.

Cautiously, very aware of how quickly his shields could slam back up, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in close. He might sometimes seem cold and inhuman, but there was a reality to him when he was this close; he was solid, he was warm, and she could feel the knobbles of bone under his skin when she ran her fingers down his spine. Held close, out of sight, he stopped being Snape, the prickly, sardonic Death Eater who'd thrown his own father down the stairs, and was nobody but Severus, who guided her through potions experiments and had ink on his fingers at the end of half their classes. Severus, who was thin and physically weak and kept his head high so the insults might bounce off. Severus, who was risking his life every moment from now on, because she'd made him, but also because he'd made _himself_.

He could have run. She could have lost him. Now her fingers tightened against his robes, and she closed her eyes and buried her face against his shoulder. His hooked nose pressed into her hair, and, to her surprise, he returned the hug, holding her close with a desperate ferocity. She could feel him trembling.

They stood like that for a long time, barely hidden by the sloe flowers, holding each other tightly. It wasn't forgiveness, but from him, it was better than anything she'd dared to hope for. He leant against her, a solid weight despite his bony frame, and his breath was hot against her shoulder.

Then something struck her, and she pulled away as far as she could with his arms around her, trying to meet his eyes. "Severus..." she said slowly, still all too aware of how precarious their position was, "what did you mean, _found in my head_?"


	32. Pride After A Fall

**32 - Pride After A Fall**

"You went into my head," Laura said slowly. She wasn't meeting his eyes any more, presumably for fear of what it might let him see, and she'd paled a shade. "You used Legilimency on me, and you think me meeting your _parents_ was an invasion of privacy?"

When she put it like that, Severus had to admit, it did sound pretty bad. "We shouldn't talk about this now," he said, careful to keep his voice level. "We should be getting back to the castle, before we're missed. Maybe later we can..."

"No!" Her voice was rising a little. Flinching, Severus peered through the branches of the sloe to make sure nobody was around, although he knew the Silencing Charm ought to absorb her voice. "No, Severus, we're talking about this now! If I have to, to grovel and apologise for going to Spinner's End, okay, but you're not slipping out of apologising for this, okay? _Okay?_" she repeated, a little louder, when he didn't reply.

He sighed, settling back onto the ground with his forearms resting on his knees, and looked up at her. "It wasn't like that," he protested, rather feebly. He hadn't put enough thought into it at the time to form any conviction that he was doing the right thing, and any confidence he _had_ had in his actions was crumbling. But, really, he hadn't known she was going to get so close, had he? He hadn't realised that she'd ever find out, and he'd had to do it, for his own protection, and...

...and all of that, he knew, was him making excuses. When he thought about it, when he was confronted by her suddenly tight posture and clenched fists, he knew he shouldn't have done it. Even if he hadn't meant it as an attack. Even if he'd barely skimmed the surface, so light she didn't know he was there. Even if she should have protected herself better, should have learned Occulemency like he had. Even then, he shouldn't have done it.

"It was months ago," he said at last, staring fiercely at a ragged-edged white flower. "I can't take it back, you know. Apologising won't make it not have happened."

Now she did look at him, this time from under her lashes, her brown eyes dark and remarkably hard. "I know that, Severus. Unless you are squirelling a Time-Turner away somewhere, which I doubt, that's impossible. I'd settle for being able to trust that you won't do it again."

"I won't." _Unless I really have to_, he mentally appended, thinking of all the trials which were undoubtedly ahead of them. Laura, though, wasn't done.

"Just because not everyone has as much horrible stuff in their past as you do, it doesn't mean they don't need their privacy, all right? I still have secrets, I still have things I don't want to be public, and, Severus, it feels _awful_ to know you could have taken a look at them any time. I don't think you understand. _Awful_. I want to trust you, okay? But I don't ever want anybody to be _that_ close to me. Not ever. Not even my parents, not even my friends. Not even you. All right?"

Severus mumbled something. Even he wasn't sure what it was. It started out as an apology, low and lacking conviction, and somewhere between his brain and mouth it fizzled out in the realisation that apologising, as ever, was worse than useless. Laura looked away from him in something like disgust, and the feeling that he had already lost bubbled up in him again, bilious and bitter. They sat for almost a minute like that, Severus' fist pressing into his leg while Laura's fingertips traced abstract patterns in the mud. Then, at last, he found his voice again.

"I could teach you," he said quietly. It was a peace offering, in lieu of the apology he couldn't force out. More than that, it was a necessity, and he couldn't think why it hadn't occurred to him before. "I'm good at Occulemency. Really good, actually. Better than I am at Legilimency. If you wanted to, I could teach you, and then nobody could ever... I could never do that again. Not unless you let me." It probably wasn't true – Severus was finding that he was actually a very strong Legilimens, and he doubted Laura would be strong enough to resist him if he tried – but that wasn't the point. He'd already said he wouldn't try again unless he had to.

Laura continued to sit silently, just as she had been, for a moment more before getting to her feet. "You were right," she said, her voice sounding a little muffled. "We should get back."

"I'll..." Cursing himself, Severus cleared his throat to steady his cracking voice. "I'll wait here a minute or so, so we don't arrive back at the same time. See you in Potions?"

Laura nodded, casting a quick cleaning spell on her robes, and ran her fingers back through her hair as she walked away. Severus was just slumping down into the mud to wait when, a moment later, her head appeared over the top of the bush. "Severus?"

He looked up, nodding.

"I'll think about it. The lessons. And... look, I'm angry at you right now, but I just want you to know, I'm proud of you. For what you're doing. I'm scared, but I'm proud of you."

"Go back to the castle," he told her. "Someone's going to see you talking to a sloe bush, and what will they think?"

But as she turned away and her shadow passed from over him, he allowed himself a small, private smile. He was terrified, too, and angry with himself for being so easily corralled, but there was a part of him that seemed to be blossoming back into life. It wasn't just the fact that she was talking to him again, either, or that they seemed to have got their guilt out into the open. He didn't _like_ having his guilt out in the open. It was almost as bad to talk to her as it had been to sit in front of Dumbledore the night before and confess his crimes.

But he'd confessed. And, out of what he'd come to recognise as evildoing, he'd managed to forge something new, a way to work through this war with his conscience, if not his life, intact.

For the first time in seventeen years, someone was proud of something he'd done. For the first time in seventeen years, _he_ was proud of it.


	33. Breathing Exercises

**A/N:** Just so you're aware, I'm starting university (finally!) next week, so my updates are likely to get even more sporadic. Thanks for understanding! (Also, thanks for reading, and reviewing, and enjoying, and criticising, and all that stuff. ilu guys)

* * *

><p><strong>33 - Breathing Exercises<strong>

Laura might have agonised over the decision to let Severus teach her, and she did think it over long and hard – after all, she was a methodical, analytical kind of girl. In the end, though, it wasn't really a decision at all. She had hardened to the reality of their situation, slowly, observing the hushed silence and nervous fits around the school, finding herself watching the Slytherin table with an intensity and mistrust that frightened her, torn between being too defensive and not defensive enough about her secrets. She was a quiet person by nature, and if you'd asked her before, she would have said she could keep a secret, but before, she'd never had a secret of this magnitude to keep. Her life, his life, the lives of her friends and family, hinged on her ability to let nothing slip. She wasn't equipped for this. So, while she could question Severus' morals, his treatment of people, even his academic ability, all she could do with secrets was to follow his lead.

For the next couple of Potions lessons, she copied Severus' approach, falling back into the old silence and stiltedness and hoping the increased companionability of it would go miraculously unnoticed. It wasn't easy. She found her eyes sliding towards him too often, uncomfortably aware of the danger that linked them like spiderwebs, and even more uncomfortably aware of his overintense stares, now never directed at her. He was losing weight, his already skinny frame getting to be positively haggard. With an effort, she didn't mention it.

Severus seemed to have drawn back from her since the conversation by the lakeside, and Laura was all too glad of it. It was one thing to sort out the relatively easy question of whether to learn Occlumency, quite another to have to talk to him and sort through the snarl of emotions wrapped around him in her mind. She wanted to forgive him, she really did, and there was still that part of her which cried out to let them stand together, to return to the dungeons and their experiments and his thin hand brushing hers. She wanted to see him smile that surprisingly open smile again, for his spiky shoulders to loosen and his posture to relax and his black eyes to crease up in the edges in that wonderfully human, vulnerable way.

Then she would think of those eyes boring into her, reading her own trivial secrets, laying her bare without even asking, and she was torn between rage and a shuddering, visceral disgust. If she could have, she would have put it aside, but if there was one thing Laura Baines couldn't do, it was stop thinking. The more she thought about it, the worse it felt. In a way, she found herself thinking as she sat in the library one morning, it was like rape. It was violating. It didn't fit with what she wanted him to be, what she'd hoped he was... but it fitted all too well with the angry, suspicious boy with whom she'd somehow found herself in love.

It took her most of a week to decide that she would just have to forget the angry, suspicious boy, forget the smiling young man, forget her Potions partner and co-conspirator, and just take him as Snape, her Occlumency teacher. It took her another week, and a lot of false starts and half-written notes, tofind herself in sudden tears at the realisation that she couldn't. In the back of the library, surprised by her own sobs and by the horrible sick twist in her gut, she dashed at her eyes and scrambled for a handkerchief. A couple of fifth-years, startled by her first loud sob, stopped kissing among the stacks to stare at her.

"Get out of the library if you're not going to study!" Laura's snarl and glare, watery though her eyes were, was vicious enough to make them vanish again sharply, leaving only the trail of guilt that caught at the back of her throat. She wasn't meant to be vicious. She wasn't meant to be scary. She was meant to be quiet and intelligent and even gentle, a Healer, not a secret agent or whatever she was now. She was meant to be finishing her NEWTs and organising her training and getting ready to slide smoothly into adult life. She wasn't meant to be a frightened child thrust out into the cold, not sure where to turn or who to trust, just wanting to go home.

Oh, Merlin, she wanted to go home.

Sniffling, she wiped her nose on her sleeve, dabbed at her eyes, and closed her book as the swell of emotion subsided. It wasn't the first time she'd broken down like that in the last week, nor the last, but it was the first time she'd been able to see just how much it was damaging her. She wasn't the kind of person who snapped, or cried in libraries, or mistrusted everyone. She didn't _want_ to be that person.

Worse, just for a moment, she understood Severus so much better.

As she packed her things away and hurried out of the library, fingers white-knuckle tight on the strap of her satchel, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. _Stop making this about him,_ she lectured herself, unaware of how unsteadily she was walking or of how many people she almost barged into. _This is about you, right now._

_Isn't that how he keeps thinking, though?Why he did it?_

Her feet were carrying her towards the Potions dungeons. Realising this only when she started down the stairs, she stopped and sagged against the wall, covering her face with her hand. Her cheeks were still wet, her throat stinging with tears. Biting down hard on her lip, she focused on breathing. Xiang had taught her a little tai chi once, and she used the breathing she'd learnt then: in through the nose, out through the mouth, until her legs were solid again and her tear-puffy eyes were dry. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Don't think about his guilt or your guilt or his courage or your cowardice. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Look at the situation logically, put everything else aside. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. What are we going to do?

A while later, dragging her feet slightly and feeling more exhausted than she could possibly explain, Laura started back towards Ravenclaw Tower. Luckily, the riddle today was easy – "A cauldron" – so she was spared the indignity of having to wait outside to be rescued from her mind's sluggishness. For a long time, she sat on her bed, cross-legged, and turned his dogeared Potions book over and over in her hands.

"Merlin, you're messed-up," she muttered at the book, running her hand back through her hair, and flopped forwards so that her forehead rested on the musty cover. She stayed there, numb and dissociated, until her spine started to hurt and the sound of her dormmates heading to bed filtered through the drawn curtains. Then, moving like someone waking up for an appointment they don't want to keep, she leant over to pull a scrap of parchment out of her dresser.

_Severus,_ she wrote at the top. Hesitated. Raised her quill to scribble it out and start again. Bit down hard on her lip, dipped the already-laden quill again, and went on writing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Let's grasp the nettle firmly and get this over with.

...*...

She wasn't sure if he'd get the note. They hadn't talked since the altercation by the Lake, besides the little necessaries like "Pass the newt lung" and "Have you got the belladonna?", and part of her was afraid that, uncharacteristically risky though it would be, he'd decided to cut her out. But when she slipped into the empty Charms classroom at one o'clock that night, he was already waiting for her, fully-dressed, bolt upright at one of the front-row desks.

"Good," he said, when he saw her. "I was starting to worry you had fallen asleep."

"I wish I had," Laura muttered, but too low for him to hear. Out loud, turning away from him more than necessary to close the door, she said, "I set the appointment, Severus. Of course I came."

The subsequent silence had nothing companionable about it. Clinging to the spiderwebs of secrecy between them, now they were alone, were the acid droplets of her rage and fear. Brushing her pyjamas down, aware of the movement of her bare feet on the floorboards, Laura crossed the room to take a seat a couple of desks over from him, and stared at her raw-bitten fingernails.

"So," she said at last. "Teach me."

Again, the acid-flecked silence between them. She risked a glance from the corner of her eye, and saw Severus stand, looking away from her. His posture was slacker than she'd ever seen it, his shoulders actually slumped, his arms crossed loosely.

"It's hard to learn from books," he said at last, pacing up to the blackboard at the front of the room, running his fingers along it, and turning back to her. Laura picked at a splinter in the desk with her thumbnail, nodding slightly. She'd been afraid of this.

"You want me to practice," she stated, mostly to the desk. Her nail dug into the hard wood, and she closed her eyes, carefully modulating her breathing. "But, Severus, you learned it from books."

"Yes. It took me four years, and I didn't know I could do it until I tried. And failed." She didn't dare look up at him, but she could hear his shoes whispering on the floor as he walked towards her in the dim moonlight cast through the classroom. "We don't have the luxury of that time, Laura, and I'm honestly sorry for that, but..."

"I know," she cut across him. It was meant to be sensible and firm, but it came out as a hoarse little whisper. She cleared her throat quietly, glancing at the door. "What do I have to do?"

"You know the principle?" He was standing in front of her now; she was still studiously avoiding looking at him, but his shadow blotted out the greyish patch of moonlight on her desk. "Of course you will. You've been reading about it for two weeks."

Laura opened her mouth to demand how he knew that, realised that of _course_ he would know that, and squinted harder than ever at the deep shadows of her knuckle. It was silly, she knew, to wish he was a stranger to her when they were trusting each other so much – but she wished he didn't know her so well. She wished she couldn't believe he'd counted on it. At last, blushing a little and trying not to show the lump in her throat, she nodded. She might be the only one who didn't know what was going on or how to cope, but at least she could work with him in learning.

"We'll just do some exercises to start with." Severus' voice was remarkably gentle. He drew back, and she peeked up at him, watching his robes flap like batwings as he paced back across the draughty classroom to sit on Flitwick's desk. "But if you're going to learn, Laura, sooner or later you're going to have to let me try. You're going to have to at least look at me."

"I know," Laura repeated, and turned her head away. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she sat there, for once stiffer and more self-conscious than Severus was, and let him talk her through the breathing exercises.


	34. Behind the Mask

**A/N:** Sorry for the belated update. I started university a couple of weeks ago, so life's been mental. Good news is that I'm settling in again. Bad news is that, now I have actual stuff to do again, updates will be even more sporadic than usual. Thanks for all your support, and for reading!

* * *

><p><strong>34 - Behind The Mask<strong>

On April 5th, two weeks into the clandestine lessons in the empty Charms classroom, Severus woke up in the middle of the night with his forearm burning – the deep, itchy pain of his tattoo. Cursing under his breath, he sat up, pulling up the sleeve of his pyjamas. Some part of him hoped he was imagining things, that the skull would still be inert and red, but any hope of that was squashed when he saw the jet-black head of the snake appearing under his cuff. With a low moan he would never admit to, he tugged his sleeve back down and took a deep, heavy breath. He'd known this was coming, but that didn't mean he welcomed it. Chances were, he reminded himself, that this was just a standard meeting. Chances were, it was some plan to be passed on. Chances were, he was safe. But Severus Snape had never liked trusting to chance.

Outside the muffling green curtains which hung around his bed, Severus tugged on his robes and reached into his trunk for his mask, exchanging a silent glance with Avery, who, at the other end of the dorm, was doing the same. With a cool nod to each other, they reached for their wands in unison and headed for the door.

They didn't speak as they hurried out of the dorm, shoes in their hands so their stockinged feet fell softer on the ground. This was the unglamorous part of the operation, the part they would never discuss even in whispers; both of them could Apparate now, but that meant they had to be off the grounds, which in turn meant they had to make their way out undetected. Although he was no coward, Severus was almost tempted to accidentally-on-purpose knock into something, to make as loud a crash as possible and ensure they were discovered. He had to take a deep breath, pausing a moment in the corridor, before the urge would fade. He'd committed to this, now. He was no coward, and he wouldn't run away again.

Behind a landscape painted on the second floor, there was a passageway that led out into the Forbidden Forest. The two boys hesitated for a moment outside it. A few months ago, they might not have had that indecision, but neither was stupid enough to entirely trust the other where he couldn't see him. Eventually, with a pronounced roll of his eyes, Severus acquiesed silently and climbed through the hole first, waiting for Avery to close the passageway up behind them before summoning several dim balls of light that hung around them, dimly illuminating the coarse rock walls.

The itching burn in Severus' arm was becoming dull-edged agony, edging into the side of his mind, an irresistable tug. He saw his familiar pain reflected in Avery's eyes for a moment before they stooped to pull on their shoes and masks. Then they turned away from each other again, awkwardly and clumsily, two lanky teenagers too big for the passageway, and scrambled down the steady slope of the tunnel. It was cold, draughts creeping their way between the stones, and as they scrambled lower, their feet splashed in little puddles of muddy April rain. That was all right, though. Severus had done this before, more than a few times. What bothered him was the feeling of Avery's eyes boring into his back, and the knowledge of just how exposed he was despite the close confines, and the nagging fear that he might be hurrying merrily along to his own funeral.

The moon seemed very bright when they emerged, blinking, into the clearing in the Forest. Although it wasn't full, Severus still felt a shiver go up his spine at the way it sat in the sky, low and bloated, and the animal noises that filled the forest around them. He'd rarely been as glad for the mask which hid his expression. Flicking off the lights that had followed them through the tunnel, he looked sidelong at Avery for a moment, and then, with a palpable effort, he Disapparated.

The Death Eaters waited at the Lestranges' manor, sitting in sombre, faceless silence around the dark wood table in the drawing room. Brushing off his robes, secretly afraid that everyone in the room could hear his thundering heart, Severus tucked his wand away and took his place. Even behind the mask, he kept his features strictly schooled, stony and unreadable. He didn't know any spells that would allow his compatriots to see through the mask, but he wasn't about to take any chances. Silently, as the black-robed figures settled in their seats, Severus walked himself through the breathing exercises he'd spent two weeks teaching, and was glad for the practice.

It was a small meeting, he observed, keeping his mind detached and the surface of his consciousness on breathing. That was good. Even better, everyone was masked, which meant the Dark Lord wasn't present. That didn't mean he was safe, but he judged he could escape if things turned nasty. Besides, if the Dark Lord knew one of his own had turned traitor, Severus had an idea he'd want to be there. The thought occurred that it might be a trap, that whatever they were discussing here was a ploy to trick him into putting his cards on the table too soon, but that was a useless, paranoid thought, and he buried it under the steady in-and-out of his breathing.

The Death Eater at the head of the table stood, and her mask and robes did nothing to hide her identity. Severus had been part of Bellatrix's clique at Hogwarts until she graduated, and he knew her when he saw her. True, she'd lost some of the equinamity she'd had as a teenager, but she was still the same cold, calculating, sadistic maniac that he'd known and befriended as a child. Not, he knew, that their past friendship would mean anything to her, if she _did_ discover his treachery...

_Enough!_ If he could slap himself, he would have. He needed to stop thinking like that. It was thinking like that which would be his undoing, and, rationally, he knew it. He needed to sit up, listen, and not let on that anything had changed.

"Our Lord has trusted me with the honour of taking his word to you all," Bellatrix began. Objectively speaking, she had a good voice, clear and carrying, but to Severus at that moment, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "He can't grace us with His presence tonight. He has... _business_ elsewhere." The glee in her voice was more horrible than anything she could have said. For the first time, aside from Laura's worries or his own self-preservation, Severus heard a still small voice in his mind express its wonder that he'd ever let himself get into this. He'd known from the start that it wasn't a game, had thought he had a handle on the reality of the situation, but some interplay between Bellatrix's mania and his own subdued terror drove home like a spike into his chest the understanding of what he was really gambling. Somewhere out there, someone was bleeding, screaming, dying in terror and not understanding, because nobody, he had found, ever understood what was happening when they died. Somewhere out there, what he'd let himself become part of was still going on. He wasn't just risking his life, or Laura's. He was risking those unknown _somebodies_, all over Britain, who didn't have faces or names, and so could be anyone. Could be the Baineses. Could be Lily. Could be a child with dark eyes and greasy hair, waiting to escape.

If he'd been anywhere else, he might have fled. Might have vomited, or cried. Aware more than ever, though, of the need to seem normal, he could only sit in a nightmarish stew of inactivity, listening and nodding and once or twice speaking up, while his nails dug deep red crescents into the heels of his hands. At least the monstrous, burning itch in his arm had stopped, but that wasn't much of a consolation through the heavy numbness that cloaked him. The weight of understanding was far more monstrous.

He listened to every word she said, and every word from his companions. They seemed to come from a great distance, but he listened anyway, carefully filing away everything that was said. When the company began to break, and he rose, his head felt unpleasantly light, as though the weight of the mask and the hood of his robes were the only things keeping him from going on rising. His heart had stopped thudding now, but in favour of a palpitating kind of shiver that seemed to fill his whole body. Under the mask was a thin slick of feverish sweat.

And yet, it seemed he'd got away with it. Already, Death Eaters were starting to Disapparate, to go back to their homes and their beds, and nobody called them back; nobody shouted his name or screamed that they'd forgotten the most important business, the traitor in their midst. Severus should have been relieved, but hot panic had long since been replaced by something colder and weightier, that couldn't be shaken so easily. He wanted... he hardly even knew what he wanted. To be home, wherever that was. To be innocent, whatever that was. He would have given his life to be with Lily, to have her tell him it wasn't his fault. Or Laura, who could say that he'd turned over a new leaf, that he wasn't that man any more.

The best he could hope for, though, was to get back to bed without arousing suspicion. He raised his wand, with that in mind – and his fluttering heart thudded into the base of his ribcage as a hand caught his arm.

"Are you all right?" Surely there was a note of suspicion there. Surely Rookwood wasn't as sympathetic, as _fatherly_, as he sounded.

"Of course." Did his voice sound normal? Was there a quaver there to give him away? The same masks he'd been blessing, he now cursed. He couldn't get a read on anyone's responses, couldn't even begin to guess if what he said was signing his own death warrant. "I think I have a cold, that's all."

Rookwood nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and Severus breathed again as the hand slipped off his arm. "If you're sure. You must know we look after our own, after all, and we can't have one of our brightest and best collapsing with the flu halfway through a raid, can we?" He chuckled, a remarkably warm and human sound despite the snarling skull covering his face. "Get a Pep-Up down you, won't you? Can't serve the cause with a stuffy nose."

"Of course," Severus repeated, through lips that felt numb and dead, although he did manage to summon up some of his usual sardonicism. "I hadn't thought of that. What a _genius_ idea."

Another chuckle. There was something awful about the innocence of that sound. It reminded you that there were faces behind the masks, and that in turn too easily led onto remembering that one of those faces was your own. "Right you are, lad. Right you are." And, with a clap on the shoulder and a crack of displaced air, Rookwood was gone.

Severus didn't have time to catch his breath. He didn't think he could stand another moment like that, not now. Forgetting for the moment to worry about whether he was hurrying too much, he Disapparated with Rookwood's voice still ringing in his ears.

...*...

Laura was woken by a sharp shake, and for a moment, still dreaming, thought she'd fallen. Flailing out, her hand struck flesh, and she jerked completely awake.

"Severus!" Jumping back, she dragged the covers up over herself automatically. "What are you doing? You can't be in here! How did you..." Then she saw the haunted look on his face, the tear tracks streaking his sallow skin, the silver mask hanging from one hand, and she swallowed back her anger. It wasn't easy. Concern and fear and anger were warring for supremacy in her, and she didn't want any of them to win.

He didn't give her any time to recover, shunting himself into the enclosed space of her four-poster and twitching the curtain closed behind him. Despite how distraught he clearly was, his voice was remarkably steady. "We need another lesson. One more."

"Severus..." She looked away, highly uncomfortable, and not just because he was in her bedroom – in her _bed_ – in the middle of the night. "We had a lesson last night. And I have classes tomorrow. Can't we..."

"No." It wasn't a voice that allowed for argument. It was a voice she was a little frightened of, not because it was threatening, but because it was so dead, so heavy. "No, you don't understand. One more. We have to be sure you're ready, that your mind is safe."

"Severus," she started, and stopped. She'd been about to say _You're frightening me_, but that was both cliché and disingenuous. Instead, steeling herself, she looked up, sleep-bleared eyes meeting his. Whatever had happened, reason told her, he needed this. And whatever ill feelings she might still hold towards him, she didn't think they mattered right now. "All right," she said, softly, and sat up straighter in bed. "All right. Then let's be sure."


	35. A Thought Is Worth A Thousand Words

**A/N:** This is probably my last chapter for a while, since I'm doing NaNo all through November, plus I owe a couple of giftfics. So, that said, hopefully it's okay!

**35 - A Thought Is Worth A Thousand Words**

The temperature in the dorm seemed to have dropped ten degrees. At the same time, Laura found she was sweating, a feverish slick that stuck her pyjamas unpleasantly to her shoulders. Severus hadn't said another word, just cast a number of protective spells on the bed and settled down opposite her, and when he touched her chin, she let her eyes be guided to his without protest. The night had taken on a hideously hypnotic quality, the slow-motion inevitability of oncoming disaster. She couldn't find it in her to fight it. Severus' abandoned mask glinted sickly up at her from the sheets.

He opened his mouth, then screwed his eyes closed for a moment and fell silent before more than the first breath of speech could escape. The tears were starting to dry on his cheeks, which she supposed was something. His fingertips were cold against her cheeks.

"Go on," she whispered, through numb lips. "I'm ready."

She wasn't. No reading, no teaching in the world could have prepared her for the onslaught of his mind into hers. She wanted to be angry or upset or feel _something_ at the flashes of her life which crossed her mind, but her feelings, too, seemed to be swept away by the desperate violence of his Legilimency. There she was as a child, laughing and playing with the coloured lights her magic had created... there, young and shy and clutching her suitcase as the Hogwarts Express puffed into the station... there, dumbstruck with horror at the black lines of the tattoo on Severus' pale arm...

He hesitated. She felt it, and with an instinct she wouldn't have suspected in herself, she took the foothold, slamming back with everything she had against the alien presence in her mind. It felt physical, the smash of her mind against his, and he wasn't giving way. She refused to think about whether that meant she was failing; refused to think about anything except the matter in hand. Focusing on her breathing, her hands unconsciously curling into fists around her blankets, Laura wrestled back against Severus' mind, refusing to give any more ground, forcing herself to her limits. It felt like trying to push a brick wall, but she thought that slowly, he was starting to give. Maybe. Slowly.

Just as she was about to give up, remember that it was Severus and that him being in her mind might not be as bad as this grinding, painful push, there was nothing to push any more. She actually felt herself stumble, gasping, as the wall gave way, and the world rushed sickeningly out of focus, and the thoughts and memories they were stuck in weren't hers any more. As they flashed past, she recognised his parents, and the skinny little boy sitting on the steps, and the lingering laughter of the little redhaired girl... there was a smell of factory smoke and potions and burning dinner... Potter was laughing and the ground was spinning overhead and she was helpless... there was searing pain in her arm, or was it a bruise on her face, or a curse to the leg? His eyes, reflected in someone else's at the moment of death... the green flash of a Killing Curse and a woman's high laughter...

"Our Lord has trusted me with the honour of taking his word to you all." Laura didn't recognise the woman speaking, not exactly, but she knew who she was. She'd heard descriptions. She'd heard the Muggleborns in lower years try to scare each other with stories of that woman, tall and beautiful and utterly insane. It sent a chill down her spine, hearing her so close and knowing just what it was she was hearing. Beside Severus, masked Death Eaters were nodding. She could feel Severus' horror, the mounting realisation of what he was doing, in the pit of her belly. "...He has business elsewhere," Bellatrix continued, her mask not at all hiding her glee, and leant forwards casually across the table. "But He has sent me to call you here, to tell you what His next great work is. You all, I trust, know the name of Frances Runcorn?"

And then, with only a momentary sensation of being pushed, Laura was back on her bed again, her breath coming in short rasps, and Severus was in front of her, their minds separated again. He looked worse than ever, and he was crying again, trying to hide it and failing. His sobs were muffled, but audible in the magically isolated space behind her bed's curtains. Without even thinking, all her fear of and anger at him momentarily unimportant, Laura reached out and pulled him up against her, holding him close. She stroked his shoulder gently, and only after a long moment did she realise she was crying as well.

"Did I do all right?" she asked wryly, when they'd been curled into each other like that for a minute or two.

Severus let out a harsh bark of a laugh, straightening away from her a little. "If the Dark Lord ever tried to get into your head, you wouldn't stand a chance," he replied, but his voice was still damply muffled. "But I suppose it's a start."

Laura nodded. She hadn't expected to be perfect straight away, but it still stung a little to know that after all that, she hadn't been able to keep him out of her head. If she was honest, though, she knew that wasn't really why he'd come to make her try.

"...Frances Runcorn," she said, after a moment. Her hands were still on Severus' shoulders, and she held his red-rimmed eyes with hers. "I don't know who that is."

"She's an Unspeakable. But she's been liasing with Aurors, and Rookwood thinks she might be a danger to the cause." Severus cleared his throat, scrubbing his eyes on his sleeve, and put his hand over Laura's. "Specifically, he... he thinks she might know something. Which means that they won't kill her quickly." His gulp was audible. Maybe it was that, or just the cast of light on his tearstained face, but Laura was suddenly, sharply reminded that he wasn't much older than her. They were _children_. How had they come to this?

Turning her hand over to grasp his, she leant forwards and rested her sweaty forehead against his, eyes closed. "We're not going to let that happen, Severus. You'll see. We'll stop it."

His forehead was hot, and even with her eyes closed, she could feel the furrows of his frown. But he squeezed her hand, and nodded very slightly. Laura breathed in slowly, feeling the warmth of his bony hand and the cold slick of her own sweat, considered the still thundering sound of her heart, and knew without understanding it that something huge had shifted between them. In the artificially silent enclave of the four-poster, where the only sound was their breathing, she felt at once as close to another human being as she had ever believed possible, and more alone than she had ever been.

It was several minutes more before either of them moved, and despite herself, Laura was starting to drift into sleep when Severus released her hand and reached over to pick up his mask and shoes. Part of her wanted to invite him to stay. She hated the thought of him going back to the Slytherin dorm like this, rawly vulnerable and still visibly shaken. She hated the idea that he might be left to cry alone in his own cold dorm bed, knowing that it wasn't even close to over yet. Nothing seemed better, just then, than to hold him and make a space for them both, where the horrible things outside went away and they both had someone to turn to when they woke up from nightmares about what he'd seen.

Unfortunately, Laura was smart. She couldn't delude herself into thinking that was best, let alone _him_. So, instead, she settled back against her pillows, watching him tuck his mask under his robes and try to clean his face. Only when he was reaching out to part the curtains did she find her voice.

"Severus?"

He looked back, the dim light catching the hollows of his cheekbones. "What is it?"

"I..." Laura couldn't meet his eyes. She wanted to, but she couldn't. "What you did tonight. That's the bravest thing I can imagine. And I will work on the Occlumency, and I will find a way to get a message to Runcorn, don't worry, I just wanted you to know..." She trailed off, flailing for words. The feelings welled up inside her, unarticulated, and she couldn't find the words for them. Eventually, she settled for, "You're a good man, Severus. You know that, don't you?"

He looked away, unsmiling. "Whatever you say," he muttered, his voice thick and hoarse, and then he was gone. The curtains drifted back into place behind him, and Laura was left alone in the heavy silence, emotions too big for mere words blocking up her throat.

_Everything you've done, Severus,_ she thought dimly, lying down and pulling up the covers around her. _All the evil things and the bitterness and the cruelty... with everything you've done, you're still a good man._

She didn't sleep any more that night.


	36. Second Chances

**A/N:** Sorry for the long delay! Turns out university, NaNo, and other RL commitments actually take _work_. Who knew?  
>Anyway, yes. Hope you enjoy it, and with luck, I won't wait another two months before updating! :p<p>

* * *

><p><strong>36 - Second Chances<strong>

Frances Runcorn was not, to all intents and purposes, a particularly extraordinary witch. Job aside, she was an entirely ordinary woman: a middle-aged government worker who went home every night to a mid-range flat in Islington, whose last notable achievement had been getting into the Department in the first place, and who had never done anything worldshaking or history-making. What was more, she liked it that way. When you worked somewhere as volatile as the Department of Mysteries, it was comforting to have normality to draw around yourself like a cloak, something to put you back in touch with the real world.

The war came to her on a cool Friday afternoon, when she was sitting by the Serpentine in St James' Park and feeding the ducks absent-mindedly. Her handbag, with her wand buried at the bottom, sat on the bench beside her, and the spring wind ruffled her greying hair. Had she been an Auror, she might have noticed the hints that something was approaching; the odd emptiness of the footpath, the unusual silence, the fact that several bold London pigeons had stopped pecking at the crumbs and were standing with their heads cocked. But Frances wasn't an Auror, and, frankly, she wasn't even all that awake.

The first she knew of it was the loud popping of several Apparations, and then, as she jolted into alertness and tossed her sandwich aside to scramble for her wand, a voice behind her: "Impedimenta!"

Around her, the air seemed to thicken into tar, catching her wide-eyed and immobile with her hands reaching for her bag. Although she couldn't move, her heart was decidedly unaffected – it was suddenly rushing like a runaway Hippogriff, thundering in her ears as she looked around desperately at the masked, robed figures surrounding her. Magic caught at her ankle, a spell she didn't know, and hauled her gracelessly upside down. She met the eyes of one of her attackers, saw the madness dancing behind the mask, and screamed.

"Shut up," the woman in front of her said curtly, raising her wand, and pressed the tip of it to Frances' nose. "Now, be a good girl, won't you? We just need to know a few things, and you're going to tell us..."

"Silencio!" The Auror was shouting the spell almost before he Apparated into the group. "Merlin, Bella, you don't half go on. Protego," he added almost casually, throwing up a shield as several red bolts shot his way, and dived away under two Killing Curses. Raising his voice as he put an arm around Frances' waist, he shouted towards a nearby tree "Now would be a good time for backup, Fab!"

The last thing Frances heard before he Apparated them both away was a markedly similar voice from behind the tree, yelling "Tally ho!" Then the voice and the park and the Death Eaters were gone, and with them the tension around her ankle; she fell, landing harder than she would have liked on something softer than she would have expected. Opening her eyes, she found herself on a rather tatty sofa in a little living room, with the Auror leaning over her solicitously. Now the initial panic was fading, she recognised him, and not just because he was based in the Ministry too. Most of wizarding Britain knew the face of Gideon Prewett. He looked rather friendlier in the flesh, though that might have had something to do with the circumstances.

"Sorry about that," he said, straightening up and reaching back to fix his short ponytail. "Next time you get ambushed, do it in a smaller place. Fab and I were combing the whole park for you. Tea?"

"I, um..." Frances cleared her throat, her heart still thundering in her ears as she tried to smooth her wool suit. "Where are we?"

"Safest place in Britain," Gideon replied cheerfully, although there was a certain tautness to the corners of his mouth. "Welcome to the Prewett residence. You'll be all right here – if they haven't found us by now, I don't think they're going to. Listen, I've got to get back and help Fab out, we're kind of short-staffed on this one. Kettle's on the boil in the kitchen, and we've put you out a mug and some biscuits. Don't go in any of the cupboards or try to open anything, though. Touching some of them'll turn your hair green."

"That, er, that doesn't sound very... I mean, _hair_?"

"Fab shouldn't fuck up my dates if he doesn't want green hair," Gideon said with a wink, and patted her on the shoulder. "Make yourself at home, Minister. We'll be back in a bit." And before she could ask any more questions or even say thankyou, he was gone.

When both Prewetts returned, Apparating together into the sitting room where he'd left her, Frances had very cautiously made herself a cup of tea and was sitting staring into it as it cooled. Looking at herself from outside, as she'd always been able to do, she guessed she was probably in shock, but what mattered was that she was safe. She'd been repeating that to herself for a good ten minutes when the brothers appeared in front of her, covered in mud and a little blood, but grinning.

"That's going to be a fun one to pass off as a mugging," Gideon said, clapping his twin on the shoulder and limping over to sit next to Frances. "You all right, Minister?"

She nodded, hoping she looked more certain than she was. "What did they... what did they want?"

"Damn." Fabian screwed up his face, untying his waist-length hair and shaking it out. "We were hoping you could tell us."

"All we know is that they thought you might tell someone something," Gideon explained, leaning down to unfasten his boots. "You might want to take a week or two off work. We're pretty sure we know who ratted you out, but we're going to need some time to build up a case before we take him in. We're, er... not exactly working as Aurors right at the moment. Just so you know. Keep this whole thing under wraps, is what I'm saying, 'cause we quite like our jobs."

"Wuss," Fabian said scornfully, ruffling his brother's hair, and wandered towards the door, tucking his wand into his robes. "Want a cuppa, Monkeyman?"

"Please." Gideon lounged back on the sofa, stifling a yawn. As Fabian disappeared out into the narrow hallway, Gideon turned back to Frances. "Don't mind Fab. He's a prat."

"I don't mind at all," Frances said honestly, putting her untouched tea to one side. "I should thank you. Especially if you weren't on Ministry business. You probably saved my life, didn't you?"

"Yeah, well." Gideon looked slightly bashful, and, Frances thought, very young indeed. Of course, he was hardly twenty yet. "Just 'cause it wasn't Ministry work, doesn't mean it wasn't our job."

"How did you know they were coming for me?"

He shrugged. "We got a tip-off. Anonymous. Well, I mean, not _exactly_ anonymous, we know who told _us_, obviously, but we don't know who told him. Might just be that Dumbledore really is as all-knowing as he thinks he is. Anyway, when beardy old super-wizards say something with that kind of certainty, you don't..." He stopped mid-sentence, cocking his head slightly, and a very un-Auror-ish smirk began to spread across his face. "Hang on, wait for it..."

From down the hall, Fabian's voice echoed out loud and raw. "_ROWENA'S SAGGY TITS, GID, WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY __HAIR__?_"

...*...

It was typical that, when Severus finally had a reason to want to go to Hogsmeade, Hogsmeade weekends had been indefinitely suspended. In the absence of that excuse to peel away from people, secretive meetings were rather harder. They'd met twice since the last Death Eater meeting, which was already more than he was comfortable with when the stakes were so high, and he was increasingly paranoid every time one of his housemates met his eyes. Because of that, he very nearly decided against meeting Laura when he got her note.

In the end, it was the need for security, not safety, that drew him up to the Astronomy Tower. It was an irrational decision, short-sighted and wilfully blind, and he hated and despised the impulse in himself as much as he would in anyone else. He gave into it anyway. When the half-moon rose over the Lake, he started up the long stairwell, pulling his shabby robes around himself and resisting the urge to lurk in the shadows. Nothing was more suspicious, he knew, than someone trying hard not to be suspicious. Instead, rubbing his hands together in the spring chill, he stalked up the stairs in full view, his head held high, and didn't cast a single concealing charm until he was ten floors up.

When he emerged into the lashing rain, head ducked, he saw Laura at once. She stood against the parapet, looking out over the mountains, a very un-witchy blue Pack-a-Mac covering her robes. For a moment, as he closed the door behind him and set an alarm spell on it, he thought of just joining her in contemplation at the battlements, waiting for her to notice him. On the other hand, it was raining, and he'd had enough of being ruled by what he wanted.

"You called?" he said dryly, and Laura turned to face him, a smile spreading slowly across her round, rain-lashed face. Then, so quickly and near-violently that he found himself instinctively reaching for his wand, she was upon him, her lips pressing hard against his as she bounced up onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

"Didn't you hear?" she said, her eyes alight, and kissed him again. Baffled, Severus couldn't gather himself together enough to respond. That didn't seem to bother Laura, who dropped back onto flat feet and hugged him tight. "You did it, Severus! You saved her!"

It took a moment for that to sink in. Even when it did, he didn't smile. There was something there, a tugging feeling of relief, but it was distant and small, like a stone in a well. Still, he pulled Laura in close, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I saved her," he repeated, quietly, and shook his head, fingers closing on the slick plastic of her raincoat. He only held the hug a moment before pulling away. "It's a start."

"Severus..." Laura sighed, pushing her hair back under her hood. "It's not just a start. You did something amazing. Don't you dare talk yourself down here."

Severus nodded, knotting his fingers together thoughtfully, but there was no real feeling in it. All he said was, "We've got a lot of work to do."


	37. Strange Truths

**37 - Strange Truths**

It's a strange truth that, the larger something looms, the harder it is to focus on. As April marched on and the tension of oncoming NEWTs started to smoulder into life, all through Seventh Year, people seemed to be growing more and more obsessed with studying, and not just the scholastic types. It was as though all the tension and worry about the war was being put into revision, and the more people panicked, the less they panicked about what was real.

While Laura might have been watching this with some amusement, she certainly wasn't immune to it, either. Severus' spying was the most momentous, important, and life-defining thing she had ever had to deal with, and yet, as April wore on, it got further and further from her mind. She wasn't quite to the level of some of her compatriots – Xiang Chang, in particular, didn't seem to have raised her head from her books in about a week – but she was still a Ravenclaw, and a good student, and she had her pride to maintain. Besides, the oncoming exams were less terrifying and heartstopping than the thought that she and Severus might be all that stood between the Death Eaters and some of their victims.

That had dawned on her slowly, over the days since Frances Runcorn had been attacked. Laura had been elated at first. How could she not be? Severus had _done_ it, and she'd helped. They'd saved an innocent woman's life, and given the Aurors the drop on a Death Eater group in the bargain. In a way, a small way but one that might make a great deal of difference, they'd diverted the course of the war.

But the more she thought about it, the more she came around to Severus' point of view. Yes, they'd saved one woman, but that was like trying to divert a river with one stone. They had to keep going, and it had to be _them_, because nobody else could do it. Worse, knowing how heavy that responsibility weighed on her when she was only a go-between, she was coming to realise just what a terrible thing she'd done to Severus. She was only facing a small responsibility, to keep his secret and help cover his tracks. He had to do the work, the spying, the calculating. He was the one putting his life in danger every day, and she'd made him do that. No matter how hard she told herself that he was a better person for it, that she'd done the right thing, that was a heavy weight to carry.

It got heavier when, a couple of weeks after the Runcorn incident, he slid a note under the table in Potions which said _DA 21/4 17:30 22 inc me._ She didn't look at him, just fed the parchment into the fire under her cauldron and hoped nobody would notice, but the acid taste of terror burnt her throat. This was so much worse than Runcorn. This time, he'd be there.

But she took the intelligence to Dumbledore, visiting his office under the pretence of talking to him about NEWTs arrangements, and on the 21st of April, while twenty-two of Voldemort's followers clashed against seventeen undercover Aurors in Diagon Alley, Laura had put it out of her mind and was bent over her Arithmancy textbook. By the time she remembered the significance of the date, it was almost six o'clock and, in London, the survivors of the battle were Apparating away.

She sat for several long minutes, staring at her watch, and all the fear and worry she'd pushed away burst into her throat like a dam breaking. She didn't cry, or even feel like it, but her throat felt full, and what she did want to do was scream. She'd forgotten. How on earth could she have _forgotten_? Severus was out there, putting his neck on the line, fighting in a battle where both sides were his enemies, and she was sitting in a warm library, copying out lines of figures without a second thought.

He was dead, she knew. Dead, or slumped in an alley. Or he'd killed someone, maybe even the Aurors who'd saved Runcorn. Or he'd killed one of the other Death Eaters, and the jig was up, or someone had seen her burn the note and called off the attack, or the Aurors hadn't trusted Dumbledore's intelligence and hadn't shown up, or...

_Or he's just dead. Or you killed him. Sent him out into a trap and killed him_. Her fingers tightened on her quill, so hard that she felt the hollow stem of it crack under her fingers. She knew that was a stupid thought. Severus was a Slytherin, and while he was brave, he was also self-serving. He'd gone into this knowing the risks, better than she did. He was the one who'd passed on the message, and he wouldn't have if he thought it would get him killed. He was the one who was fighting. What right did she have to sit around and feel miserable, when she was being so useless herself?

Groaning, she dropped her head forwards onto the book. It didn't gain any attention – bashing one's head off books wasn't really unusual behaviour around NEWT season, as Hogwarts students attempted the time-honoured revision technique of smashing in knowledge that wasn't getting there any other way – but it did make a satisfying _thunk_ which she totally failed to register. She could feel herself thrumming with nervous energy, and she had no idea what the hell she was going to do with it. Walk it off? Like that was going to work. Maybe she should have taken Xiang up on those tai chi classes. Maybe she shouldn't have got Severus in this mess in the first place.

But you could only wallow in self-pity for so long, and unfortunately, Laura was aware of that. Eventually she sat back up, the clawing tension still harsh in her throat, and swallowed hard before going back to the Arithmancy tables. The numbers didn't make the easy kind of sense they had a few minutes ago, when it had all come sweeping in on her, but it was something to do, at least. She couldn't do anything else. She couldn't go and ask after Severus, or follow him to Diagon Alley, or even check up to see whether he was back. Until suppertime, or maybe even breakfast, she wouldn't know.

At 6:05 precisely, just as she was about to start wrapping up her revision, someone brushed against her bowed shoulder. She didn't think much of it, not until she saw the boy who'd knocked into her walk past towards the shelf, but she knew that lank hair and stiff posture anywhere. He was limping slightly, and when he reached for the bookshelf she saw a burn mark on his skinny white hand, but he was there. He was okay. The nervous lump dropped out of her throat and landed hard in the pit of her stomach, making her eyes sting for a moment. _Now_ she wanted to cry, with happiness and relief, and to go and tell him she was sorry, that he shouldn't have to do that ever again, that _neither_ of them should.

But she couldn't, and he wouldn't want her to. Instead, she ducked her head again, hiding the smile that came, broad and unbidden, to her face. Closing the book, she began to pack her things away, with her heart fluttering madly in her chest, sudden adrenaline spiking through her veins. It was strange, she thought, to be so galvinised by something that should relax, to be almost more nervous now she knew he'd survived.

Her hands were trembling. That was strange too, she noticed with detached surprise. Knowing he was safe should let her relax, let her off this ride she'd never wanted to be on. And yet, even before the elation of relief had faded, the voice of reason was speaking up. _But you're not off the ride. He'll have to go again, and again, and again..._

Now, though, he was back. He was alive. And, as Laura passed him to shelve her book, carefully not looking at him straight on, she still saw the tiny curl of a smile appear at the corner of his mouth.

That helped a little. Slowly, the adrenaline ebbed. Slowly, she started to breathe easy again. Slowly, she started to forget that reasonable voice, and remember only that he was alive, he was okay, and – when she read the headlines the next day – that they'd won. Slowly, but still all too fast, she let go of that thought that the danger was real.

It's a strange truth that, the more inescapable a situation is, the less imprisoned we allow ourselves to feel. Laura Baines was learning that the hard way.


	38. Tonight Will Be Fine (For A While)

**A/N:** The title for this chapter is shamelessly stolen from the Leonard Cohen song of the same name. It seemed to fit. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It was a good excuse to procrastinate on my exam revision! :p

* * *

><p><strong>38 - Tonight Will Be Fine<strong>

Severus was restless. Of course, that was nothing new. He'd never been the calmest of people, not in his own mind, and any peace and quiet he'd been able to get had been shattered as soon as he started on this whole mad idea of spying. While he hadn't ever considered himself the type to rely on other people, let alone to need their company, he was finding that maybe it wasn't as easy as it had always been. The spying was a big secret, big enough to choke him, and he didn't even need to talk about it, so much as to be around someone who he didn't have to worry about finding him out.

Laura hadn't talked to him since Runcorn and the Astronomy Tower. Well, she _had_ – "Pass the dandelion root", "We're going to run out of Flubberworm", or "Could I borrow a little of your wormwood?" – but not really. Not meaningfully. He recognised that she was right not to, and in fact, the logical part of him was relieved she understood the danger enough to take that attitude, but no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't a logical being. He could compress it down as much as he liked, but there was still a wildly emotional core to him, and it was screaming _she doesn't love you_.

And he didn't need her to love him. So it should have been fine.

Except it wasn't.

NEWTs were looming. Thankfully, things had gone fairly quiet on the war front, and Severus had already decided it was time to take a break from passing on information before people started to get suspicious. Even so, he couldn't focus. He kept finding himself moving, jumpy and full of nervous energy, pacing or fidgeting. It seemed to go unnoticed, among the tension of every other NEWTs student in the place, but it scared him. He was losing control. He could feel himself slipping. He should have been able to stop it, it should have been fine.

Except it wasn't.

On that last raid, he'd come back dazed and aching, with a deep cut across his chest and a numb agony in his leg, and the first thing he'd done had been head to the library in the hope that she'd be there. He'd wanted to know that he was back, that he was alive, that he was fine.

Except he wasn't, and eventually even _he_ had to admit to that.

He clung onto denial right through April, keeping his head down and trying with limited success to concentrate on his work. He had more immediate things to worry about than his own health, after all – NEWTs, the war, the _future_. Besides, he told himself, repeating it until it was lodged indeliably in his brain, he was fine. He was always, always fine. But the more he told himself that, the more it sounded like he was trying to convince himself, and the more he was certain that he couldn't keep it up. Still, he went on pretending, keeping his head bowed and his face stony as though he didn't feel like curling in a corner and shaking until the world went away.

At last, after his practical Potions exam – laughably easy, even in his reduced state – he gave up entirely. As he'd done to Lily all those months ago, he charmed the note so only Laura could read it, then sent it fluttering up to her dorm. _We need to talk, Baines. Meet me by the sloe as soon as you can._ Then, added after a couple of moments of struggle, _Please. S._

Then he went outside to wait, settling into position hidden from the school, with his Charms notes open on his lap.

She was prompt, he'd give her that. "Why couldn't you tell me by note again?" she asked, sitting down beside him without waiting to be asked. She looked almost as tired as he did, he thought distantly, and her round face had gained deeper shadows and harsher contours lately. That stung a little. So did her brisk attitude.

"...It's not about that," he said, after a moment. "I'm not giving you intel while NEWTs are going on. Two a month is pushing it as it is."

"Okay," she said slowly, running her plump fingers through her hair. "What is it, then? You know you're risking us being seen, don't you?"

That felt like a dig. "Of course I know!" he snapped, sharper than he meant to. "What, you think you're the expert here? You're not the one risking your neck!"

She recoiled, hurt slamming down across her face, and Severus immediately regretted his tone. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he struggled to bring himself under control as she moved to get up. "Don't leave," he said, quieter, reaching out for her hand. "I didn't mean it like that. I just..."

"I know." Sighing, Laura collapsed back down next to him. "But, Severus... I know," she repeated, trailing off, and looked at the Lake with clear misery tight in her expression. Severus wished he had some idea of how to make things better, but he'd never been any good at that kind of touchy-feely stuff. Instead of reaching out to touch her shoulder, as he wished he could, he drew his hand back and folded his fingers together over his knees, not looking at her.

"I," he started, and then fell silent again, not knowing what to say. It was there somewhere, building up behind the wall of fear and emotion, but he didn't have the words to make it real. Words, he thought bitterly, could be just as useless as people right when you needed them most. Against all his nature, just wanting to keep her there, he fell back on the old trick he'd always looked down on; small talk. "How was the test?"

"Potions?" She looked up, and he thought there was a hint of a smile around the tight corner of her mouth. "How do you think? It was Draughts of Living Death, for Rowena's sake. We perfected those six months ago."

"Ah." He remembered that. Nine months ago, before October, before Lily had taken things into her own hands, before all this mess. It was a curiously bittersweet memory, more laden with emotion than he'd expected; he and Laura, and the cool air of the Potions dungeons, and a bottle of Sopophorus beans. Crushing them had been her idea, one of a few she'd had that he'd co-opted as his own, and they'd stood there for hours, pressing down on knife blades, carefully mixing cauldron after cauldron of potion, testing it on the mice she'd bought for the purpose. They hadn't been co-conspirators then, hadn't been lovers, hadn't even been friends, but there'd been a congenial peace between them that had been horribly lacking for the last few months.

"Mine was Weedosoros," he said, when he became aware that he'd been staring wistfully into space for an embarrassingly long time. Laura laughed under her breath.

"Let me guess," she said, glancing sidelong at him. "The examiners couldn't contain their rapture." Poisons were what Severus excelled in, even more than other potions, and both of them knew it. "They'll probably mark you down for cheating, for it being better than the test sample they have."

He smiled. It was only a small smile, but it was the first one in weeks that he'd actually felt. "If they do, they might find some in their tea," he observed dryly. It was meant as a joke, but he could almost feel the temperature plummet, and both their smiles disappeared. "I didn't mean that," he mumbled, after a moment, and looked away. "Never mind. Meeting here was a stupid idea, you're right. I just wanted to..." To what? He honestly didn't know. He settled, a bit lamely, for "To congratulate you. On the exam I knew you would do well on. I'll see you in the exam room for the next one, I suppose."

"I miss you," Laura said clearly, then half-raised her hand to her mouth, looking guilty. "Oh, Merlin. I did _not_ mean to say that aloud."

But for the first time in what felt like forever, some of the tightness was gone from Severus' chest. That was it. That was what he'd needed to say, and she'd gone and said it first. Somehow, that made it so much easier. He relaxed back against the sharp branches of the sloe bush, laughing weakly and throatily. "I miss you too," he managed, closing his eyes. "What happened?"

It was meant rhetorically. Laura didn't take it that way. "Well, you went into my head, made me feel like trash for invading my privacy without telling me you'd done even worse, acted like I was a useless pain in your behind, and let me think for months it was all my fault."

"...There was that, I suppose," Severus said, trying to mask both his regret and his irritation. He failed. "You're still angry at me, then?"

"Of course I am!" she spluttered, and shook her head, trying to catch her breath. Despite that, her hand seemed to have found its way almost accidentally onto his arm. "Then again," she said a little more cheerfully, after a moment, "I blackmailed you into risking your life, went against what you wanted to go to Spinner's End, and slapped you in the face. I suppose we've both done some pretty unforgivable things."

"Evans has got a lot to answer for," Severus agreed, and was answered with an eyebrow-raise almost sceptical enough to be one of his. Despite himself, he found that bizarrely reassuring. "Oh, all right. I suppose I have plenty to answer for as well. I don't suppose it would help to say I'm sorry?"

"More than you might expect," Laura said, but she didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, too. But that's not enough to make it better. Even if we do miss each other."

"We'll be out of here soon." Severus risked a glance at her. "You don't even have to see me after we leave. You'll go and train in Healing, I'll... do whatever I do, and that will be that. I just wish we didn't have to keep avoiding each other while we're here." There. It was out.

"I know." Laura sighed, clasping her bag closer. Her hand was still on his arm, a gentle weight, just a reminder she was still there. He appreciated that, and the understanding it implied, but it wasn't enough. "But it's dangerous, you said so yourself. Even if I was sure I could forgive you."

Of course. In a strange way, that was a relief. It would almost have been scarier if things were easy; easy things were strange and foreign and couldn't be trusted. Even so, Severus felt his heart sink. "I know," he repeated, when she'd finished, and closed his eyes. "I just... is there anything we can do?"

"Are _you_ asking _me_ what to do?" Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "That's one for the books."

Severus bit down on the urge to say something cutting about her timing. Now, he grumbled mentally, wasn't really the time for her to become a joker. But he got the definite feeling that saying so would be about the worst thing he could possibly do. Instead, he just nodded curtly, feeling himself tense and wishing he had himself a little more under control than that.

Her fingers shifted, her thumb running little circles over the threadbare fabric of his sleeve. "We can try," she said eventually, quietly. "We can go back to what we were doing before. The dungeons. You still have Slughorn's key, don't you? We could revise together. It might even help."

"It might help," Severus echoed, and took a deep breath, nodding. "Of course. And..." He trailed off again. There was no way of saying it without sounding pathetic, or at least none he could think of. How could you possibly say _and will you love me?_ without sounding like the weakest and most pitiable kind of person? There was no way, because it _was_ weak, and it _was_ pitiful.

Laura seemed to grasp some shadow of what he was thinking, though. Her hazel eyes held his for a moment, and he saw the glitter of unshed tears in them. "We can try," she said, so low he almost didn't hear her, and rested her head against his shoulder.

He didn't answer, not in words. But his hand came up to cover hers, long calloused fingers lacing through her plump ones, and he leant his head against hers. It wasn't over. He knew, deep down, that it had hardly even started, and the worst was yet to come. But, just for a moment, it almost felt manageable.

Neither of them saw Avery watching from the Forest. Neither of them saw his eyes narrow as he wheeled away.


	39. Everything Is A Test

**39 - Everything Is A Test**

"So..." Laura sat on the desk of the empty Potions classroom, legs folded under her, and consulted the list of past questions they'd put together. "If confronted by an army of Inferi in a populated area, what would be the appropriate response?"

Severus appeared to consider this for a moment. "Ask who thought it was a good idea to create an army of uncontrolled Inferi in a populated area," he said at last, wry as ever, "and ensure that you were never required to work with them."

"_Severus_." Laura looked at him reproachfully. Despite herself, though, she couldn't be all that frustrated. It was rare to see Severus make a joke that was so unembittered, and even rarer to see him smile at it. Even if his current smile was a smirk, and had little warmth to it, it was still something.

"All right. Kill the caster, then. Use a protective charm and a broomstick to locate the witch or wizard casting the spell, then... I don't suppose the exam board would approve of me putting _use a Killing Curse_, would they?"

"I don't think the exam board would approve of you killing the caster, either. It says the ideal response would be a Firestorm spell or to use a Lumos Maxima to drive them out of the area before unleashing Fiendfyre." Laura sighed, putting her parchment to one side. "This isn't working, is it?"

"Not even remotely." Severus tapped his thin fingertips rhythmically on the desk, resting his cheek on his hand. For a moment, his restless drumming stopped, and he scanned her face from across the room. They'd settled without discussion several desks apart, a visible version of the distance Laura had wedged between them. She didn't much like it, but she wasn't sure she liked the alternative, either.

With false brightness, she smiled at him and dug in her bag for another book. "We can try Charms, instead!" she suggested, her enthusiasm sounding thin and brittle even to her.

Severus' face was impassive. "You and I both know that we don't need to revise Charms," he said levelly. "Just as we both know I don't need to revise Defence. Let's be honest, when it comes to those subjects we share, we're as ready as we're ever going to be."

"There's no such thing as being too careful." Nettled by his cool dismissal of her hard work, Laura found her face settling into a scowl.

"Tell that to the person who tried to fight off Inferi with a _Lumos Maxima_," Severus drawled, and pushed his hair back with his free hand before returning to his impatient drumming on the table. "I mean, for Salazar's sake, anyone with an inch of sense can see that the only reasonable thing to do is neutralise the caster."

"By which you mean kill them?" Laura said, and couldn't quite restrain the cold note that crept into her voice. She hadn't expected things to go this way, but stress and exhaustion were starting to get the better of her, and she was losing her temper more and more as time went by.

Severus didn't help by remaining absolutely calm, stonefaced except for a bitterly self-satisfied twist of his mouth. "Yes. I mean kill them. Are you telling me it's a better idea to blind half the onlookers with a misplaced Lumos Maxima and then set them on fire when the Fiendfyre inevitably gets out of control?"

Laura opened her mouth, then closed it, feeling as though she'd been coralled into agreeing. There was no right answer to that question, was there? Sighing, she closed her eyes and pinched thoughtfully at the web between her finger and thumb. "Severus," she said at last, her voice carefully steady, "could you perhaps approach this as though you were an eighteen-year-old NEWTs student and not, well..."

"I _am_ a eighteen-year-old NEWTs student." Oh, Rowena. He was using that voice again, the slow, talking-to-an-idiot tone that always put her hackles up. "I'm approaching this the only way I know how. It's hardly my fault if the institutions testing me are too cowardly to accept the direct approach."

"This is _not a metaphor_, Severus!" Laura snapped, slamming both her hands down on the desk she was sitting on, hard enough that he actually jumped. "This is not _anything to do_ with the _direct approach_ or _institutions_ or your stupid bloody _pride_! Will you just answer the damn question, the one they're _asking_, without showing off and without being bitter and without needing to prove how much above all this you are? Will you just, for once in your life, _do the simple thing_?" Her voice had risen to a shout at the end, high-pitched and piercing, and it echoed off the stone walls as she grabbed blindly for her bag. Her chest was heaving, and to her horror, there were tears stinging at her eyes. Dashing them away with the back of her hand, she stuffed the parchment back in her satchel. "This was stupid," she muttered, crumpling the past-paper questions beyond repair as she jammed them into the bag, and not caring. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

She was mildly surprised to find that she didn't get any smart response from Severus. No _Well, it was your idea_, no argument, nothing but a stony silence no longer even punctuated by his tapping on the desk. Somehow, that made it worse. She'd tried, she'd really _tried_, but...

"My turn," Severus said quietly, as she started towards the door. "For twenty marks, explain the simplest thing to do when you're knee-deep in a war and both sides will want you dead if you slip. Write in black ink. Use both sides of the paper. Bursting into tears, swearing, or relying too heavily on emotion may lead to a forfeit of all marks."

Slowly, again feeling that she'd somehow been tricked into this situation, Laura turned to face him. Her satchel was still clutched against her chest, her face hot and tear-streaked, her throat sore with the effort of breathing. "I told you," she said, in a hoarse, miserable whisper. "This isn't a metaphor. It's just a stupid exam. Can't you just sit a stupid _exam_?"

"Not really, no." Severus' voice was harsh with sarcasm, but also held the throaty edge she was coming to recognise as the closest he'd come to public emotion. "Laura, it isn't simple. Life isn't simple. _Wars_ aren't simple. And thanks to... to you, to my conscience, to my own stupidity, I'm stuck right in the middle of this one with no way out, so could you kindly excuse me for not being able to give my full concentration to some laughably oversimplified problems I could have got full marks on three years ago?"

Laura swallowed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, and took a deep breath. She wanted to sympathise. Hell, she wanted to rush over to him, put her arms around him, and assure him that it was all right, that she was sorry she was being so harsh. She wanted him to stop being _right_, too, which was even less possible. "I just want to go back to normal," she whispered, shaking her head. "I just... I want to worry about _normal_ things, like NEWTs and relationships and what I'm going to do when we leave school. But if I can't have that..." Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, she made the effort to meet Severus' dark, impassive eyes. "If we can't be normal, can't I help? Can't you stop... this? All this? You act like you're the only one who can understand what you're going through, and maybe you are, but, Severus, I _want_ to understand. I want to _help_. It's my fault you're in this mess, and I should never have made you... I can't do this, Severus. I can't sit and watch you be all alone, and I can't take it back, and I can't pretend it didn't happen, and I just... I can't. Why couldn't you just run away? Why couldn't you be evil, or a coward, or be simple, just for _once_?"

She hadn't meant to say any of that. She hadn't even realised, until they took shape in her mouth, that those were the thoughts that had been keeping her awake at night. Now they were out, in front of the last person who was likely to consider them reasonable, and even _she_ couldn't start to pretend it was rational or adult. She felt like a child, whining and throwing a tantrum at some uncontrollable higher force, and for someone who usually prided herself on being smart and reasonable, that wasn't a nice feeling at all.

To her surprise, though, Severus didn't laugh as she'd dreaded, nor brush it off as she'd feared. Instead, clearing his throat, he got to his feet and, very cautiously, started towards her. He moved with the slow care of someone approaching a skittish animal, one hand outstretched. "Laura," he said, at last, and then paused for an agonisingly long moment. "I'm glad you made me do this."

"What?" She blinked, but didn't shy away.

"I'm glad you forced me in the middle of this. It isn't... well, it isn't remotely pleasant, but it..." Severus sighed, running both hands back through his hair, his mouth set in a hard line. "You know how much I dislike talking about... _feelings_. I would much rather we didn't have them. Now _that_ would be simple."

"You don't have to..." Laura started, then trailed off, looking up at Severus. "Can you let me help without talking about feelings?"

"I'm trying to." Severus ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his overlarge nose. "Why do you think I agreed to this? It isn't as though I've ever been a particular fan of group study. But I don't know what you're expecting to do. Polyjuice yourself as me and go to the meetings instead?"

Again, Laura opened her mouth, and again, closed it, unable to find the words. Severus wasn't done, though.

"You _are_ helping. You're here, and you're passing on the information. That's all the help you can give me for now. Maybe there'll be something more when we're not at school any more, when we have a little more freedom to move, but... Laura, listen. Whining and wailing and gnashing of teeth won't help either of us, so there's no point in either of us doing it." Uncharacteristically gently, he reached out to take her hand, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You've done more than I could ask of you. Some of it I really wish you hadn't done, but that doesn't mean it isn't for the best. And I won't get involved in any more war business until after the exams, I promise. So, until we leave, we can worry about normal things."

Although her eyes still stung with tears, Laura managed to smile, squeezing his hand. "Still can't manage to be simple, can you?"

"It's not by choice, believe me." Severus touched her cheek, a remarkably tender gesture, his thumb brushing over the damp tracks of her tears. "A couple more weeks, that's all. And then we'll leave Hogwarts, and it will all be over, and everything will change. Merlin knows, maybe by some miracle it might even be for the better."

He was right about one thing; in a couple of weeks, everything could change. What Laura didn't know when she stood in the dungeon, halfway between crying and laughing, was just how much. Two weeks later, she was on the run, her parents' house was burning, and she'd forgotten any idea of what it was to be normal. Two weeks, and it was all over.


	40. Can't Hide Forever

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the long delay between chapters, especially with the cliffhanger I left it on! Life just got crazy-mad, and I'm still hauling myself out of a dip - and, obviously, schoolwork has to take priority. Still, I recognise that I left this at a really awkward point, and I apologise if you've been waiting for an update. Unfortunately, as I say, I'm still picking myself up, so I'm not going to make any promises, but I'll try to update sooner next time. Thanks for continuing to read, and for all your feedback, and I hope the chapter's worth the wait!

* * *

><p><strong>40 - Can't Hide Forever<strong>

Despite everything, the end of exams was a time for relaxing. Normally, there was a Hogsmeade trip or a party, but Hogsmeade was still out of bounds and staff and students alike had bigger things on their minds than party planning, so there was no big explosion of relief, no public outpouring of joy that exams were over. Even so, there was a decided sense, as the last exam finished and the tired students filed out of the hall, of an _unwinding_, an indefinable release of tension in the muted atmosphere of the wartime Hogwarts.

Laura felt it as much as anyone, maybe even more. The end of exams, the end of _school,_ felt like a new start. Freedom beckoned, an escape from the claustrophobic confines of school and the eternal looking over her shoulder, the chance to strike out on her own and see this thing through to the end. She'd decided a good few months ago now that, rather than risk bringing all the dangers of the Wizarding world down on her parents, she'd have to move out as soon as possible. In fact, with her dad's help, she even had a place picked out – a small tenement in Twickenham, which would let her get her foot in the door at St Mungo's while staying connected to the Muggle world around her. It wasn't much, but her parents were helping with the rent and she was moving in that August. She'd applied for an internship with Mungo's, and if everything went well, she should be starting there as soon as her grades came back.

Before then, her plan was to... well, if she was honest, it was looking more and more like her plan was to escape. She would come back, of course, but right now she really wanted – _needed_ – to get away from war and fear and subterfuge. She'd been owling her parents two or three times a week, and they were set to visit Paris for a fortnight almost as soon as she got back. No magic, no Severus, no school; two weeks where she could briefly forget that she'd become some kind of secret agent, and try to fit in a normal-person gap year.

So when she left her last exam, there was a spring in her step. The exam had been easy, which helped – group study sessions with Severus might not be much use, but his Dark Arts knowledge seemed to rub off if you spent long enough around him – and now, the summer stretched out ahead, open and unmagical and blessedly intrigue-free.

She was halfway to Ravenclaw Tower, in a gaggle of fellow seventh-years talking with frantically animated relief about the exam, when James Potter jogged up beside her. "Oi, Baines. Got a minute?"

"Um..." Laura bit her lip, looking around at the press of students. Reena caught her eye, giving her a wave and a thumbs-up before turning back to assuring Xiang that she would have done just _fine_ (Laura couldn't hear that over the babble of conversation, but since it was an assurance Xiang needed after every exam she sat, it was a fair guess). With a little wave back, Laura turned hopelessly back to the Head Boy. "Is it important?"

"Dunno." Potter pushed his glasses back up his nose and ran his hand distractedly back through his messy hair – a motion Laura, like Severus, had always associated with his overconfident posturing. Only he didn't look overconfident right now. He looked baffled, and for once, he didn't have even the slightest hint of a smile. "Erm, I'm going to go out on a limb and say yeah, though, seeing as _Snivelly_ got _me_ to do something. Honestly, I'm pretty sure that means the world's ending, 'cos otherwise I'm going to have to go with the unthinkable, and there's no way Lily's whole matchmaking deal didn't go tits-up. Right?"

"Um," Laura repeated, her jaw a little slack. She'd never really got on with Potter, and this was part of why – he had a tendency to be a bit full-on, to say the least, and she could have used a bit more processing time. She looked around again at the emptying corridor, her mind racing. It couldn't be something to do with the war. Surely Severus wouldn't be so daft as to use his worst enemy for that. But what else would make him desperate enough to even go near _Potter_? "I mean, yeah, it went... it went messed-up. And then not. And then messed-up again. Don't even ask. I, uh... what did Snape ask you to do?"

"Seriously? You actually _went_ for that snivelling toerag? I mean, he still hangs about with..." James cleared his throat when he saw her glare, and had the decency to look embarrassed. "Old habits, sorry. Plus, have you ever noticed that creepy stalker vibe he gives off? Like, I'm not saying anything, I'm just saying there's a reason Lily wanted to get him out of her hair, is all. Not that she tried to set you up because she doesn't like you! Just, you know, maybe she thinks the best of people too much, and I don't..."

"Potter." The eyebrow-raise she'd learnt from Severus, but the folded arms and the tapping foot were all her own. The corridor was almost empty now. A pair of fifth-year Hufflepuffs passed by, their heads together as they compared revision notes. "Your old habits are coming out again."

Potter opened his mouth, like he was about to say something else, then shrugged it off. "Snakeface said to give you this. I tried to read it but I can't unfold it. That dick's put a charm on it." Leaning in close, his forehead creased in concern, he held out a neatly folded note. "Look, Baines, I get that you like him – can't even start guessing why, but that's your lookout – but I don't trust him, okay? You've got to know about the business with Lily in fifth year, and he's only got worse since then. And I've seen him looking at you. Just... he's dangerous, okay? Don't forget that. He might act like he's just some ponce with a stick up his arse, but he's way more than that. Don't open that note unless there's someone else around, okay? It'll probably, like... blow up in your face or something."

Laura smiled crookedly, without humour, as she took the note. All the relief and joy had bled out of her. "I think you're projecting, Potter. Isn't it you who likes blowing things up? Snape's more likely to just make it poisonous."

"Not actually helping, thanks." Potter pulled a face, but he let go of the note, passing it over to her. "Listen, Laura, I'm not being nosy or anything, but are you all right? I mean, you know you can still come to me or Lily if you need to, while we're still here, yeah? And I'm pretty sure Lily'll be happy to help you out if you Floo her even when we're gone. I can give you her address if you want."

Laura shook her head, looking down at the folded paper in her hand. "I'm fine, Potter. Trust me, I can handle myself."

"If you're sure..." Potter turned away, starting back down the corridor, but looked back at her halfway. "If Snivelly's put anything nasty in that note, you give him an extra-hard kick in the bollocks from me, okay?"

"Violence isn't really up my alley, you know," Laura started, but he was already gone. With a palpable effort, she tucked the note into her pocket and carefully did not give in to the twist of panic in her gut. She'd read it, she told herself, that evening. When she was alone. When nobody was watching.

Her resolve gave out about half an hour later, when the exhuberant relief of her classmates was too much to bear. Mumbling her excuses, she left the heaving common room and locked herself into a cubicle in the girls' bathroom. She was surprised by how steady her fingers remained as she unfolded the scrap of parchment, her eyes closed. _It can't be that bad_, she told herself unconvincingly_. You're working yourself up over nothing_.

But nobody would have considered that note nothing, not with everything else going on. It was in Severus' hand, all right, the scratchy letters looking just as unassuming as if it were his Potions notes. That only made it a harsher shock that the words written in that neat, close writing were _We're coming for you, Mudblood bitch_.

Even though she knew there must be more to it than that – _had_ to be more to it than that – Laura was exhausted and tense, and perhaps it was unsurprising that, slowly, tears started to seep into her eyes. Swallowing, she sniffed them back and tried to pull herself together. Looking back on it later she would reflect, rather bitterly, on the irony of Severus' breathing exercises being what helped her to calm herself down. It took her a minute or two, sitting on the lid of the toilet with the parchment crumpling under the heavy pressure of her thumb, but eventually the lump in her throat receded, and, drying her eyes, she took a step outside herself. She couldn't afford to be overemotional, not now.

It made sense, she decided, hoping that she wasn't just making excuses for him. He had given it to _Potter_, after all, of _course_ he wouldn't say what he meant straight out if it was that desperate. There was more to it than a threat. Besides, she might no longer have the luxury of believing Severus was a nice person, but she did believe he'd have the honour to threaten her to her face if he was going to threaten her at all. So it wasn't a threat. Maybe, though, it was a warning. Her mind glazed off that possibility, shying away from the thought of what that warning might mean. No, something else. Something more subtle. After all, Severus was a subtle person, one who revelled in secrecy and subterfuge, and it was stupid to think that the note meant exactly what it said.

Which just meant she had to figure out what he _did_ mean. Wiping her eyes distractedly on the cuff of her robes, she looked back down at the parchment... and her heart caught itself in the tightness of her throat.

Letters were marching off the edge of the parchment, under her sleeve. They were faint, barely visible, like light on cobwebs, but when she tugged up the fabric, they had organised themselves into neat black rows on her arm: _ They're onto you. One-eyed witch, 11pm. Be packed and ready to leave. We'll get your parents and run. _

Laura stared at the letters on her arm until, a few moments later, they began to fade away. The clear logic of her usual thoughts seemed to have been replaced by a dull, static hum, like a radio left between stations. Numbly, she rolled her sleeve back down, fumbled the note back into her pocket, and stood up. _They're onto you_, she thought, but it seemed far-off and empty. _We'll get your parents. We'll run._

_We_.

_Oh, Merlin, it's over._

She was just unlocking the door to leave, light-headed and distant, when her legs turned to wet rope. Scrambling for the toilet lid, she bent over and retched emptily, her eyes and throat stinging. Only bile came up, burning her mouth with the taste of failure. But perhaps something else was shifted, some of her softness burned away by the acid taste of fear. When she raised her head, her brown hair clinging to her face, there was a new determination in her eyes.

_It's not over. Not like this. I won't let it end this way._


	41. Standing on Pride

**A/N:** Just a little side note - I'm sorry I haven't replied to several reviews. It's been a busy few weeks, and I just haven't got to it. I'm not going to reply to them now, but just to let you know, I read them and appreciated them massively. Thank you for your feedback and support. 3

* * *

><p><strong>41 - Standing on Pride<strong>

Severus had been waiting behind the statue of the one-eyed witch for almost ten minutes, Disillusioned and hunkered back into the shadows, when Laura finally arrived. Despite himself, he let out an audible sigh of relief, opening the passageway for her and beckoning her into the dark. Not until they were both in and he'd sealed the exit did he light his wand and look at her.

"That's never all you're taking," he stated dully, looking her up and down. She was still in her pyjamas, although she'd put on her coat and shoes, and the only bag she had with her was her school satchel, slung across her chest.

"I'm not..." She swallowed, her pudgy hands shifting uncomfortably on the strap of her bag, clenching into fists so tight that the knuckles stuck out in bone-white nubs. She was pale and tired-looking, and Severus couldn't bring himself to believe it was only the nature of the wandlight giving her that greyish pallor, either. "I'm not going, Severus. Not for good. We're going to get you and my parents away, but you're the important one, okay? You're the one with the information. Two of us will be easier to find than one, especially if I'm worrying about my parents as well." Her breath came in shallow, dull gasps, loud and echoing in the close confines of the passageway. Even through his horror, Severus fell a dull little ache of guilt. He might not be the most gentle person in the world, but that didn't mean he couldn't see how much he'd hurt her with all this. Especially when...

"That's not going to work." He leant back against the low wall of the passageway, next to where he'd stashed his battered old suitcase.

"Severus, you know I'm right." Laura wasn't crying, but he thought the tightness in her voice might be the closest to it she'd let herself get. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, please. Let's just go and get Mum and Dad, and you can all head off to Paris – they can get a hotel for sure, and the Death Eaters won't head overseas until they _know_ you're out of the country, so you'll have a head start..."

"Not going to work," he repeated, looking at his feet. "It's not going to work because it's not me they're after. It's you. _Just_ you." Even to him, his laugh sounded harsh, a barking sound with no humour in it. "You think I'd have this much warning if they were after _me_? The Dark Lord isn't in the habit of sending cards to his victims: _You will be murdered violently at 2pm tomorrow, please ensure your schedule is clear_." Now he could feel the same tightness in his own voice, clawing at his throat. He looked at Laura, and saw pure incomprehension. After a moment, biting down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted metal, he moved closer and, cautiously, touched her arm. He was struggling to keep his calm now, but he had to. Calm under pressure was all he had, his only weapon right now. "It would be ridiculous for you to stay even if they were after me too – that's such a Gryffindor way of thinking, you've been hanging around them too much – but they're not. Not yet."

He hoped he sounded more certain than he was. After all, it had been a nagging worry since he'd heard Laura's name mentioned that this was all a trap, a test of his loyalty. If she escaped, that might be all the proof they needed. But – and he couldn't believe he was even thinking this, with his life at stake – he couldn't take that chance. It was his fault she was in this mess, and she was his responsibility.

Her hand came up onto his, and she gave it a light squeeze. "If they're not after you," she said after a moment so long that it made him nervous, "then why are you coming with me?"

That was the question he'd been dreading, because there was no way to answer it without exposing his weaknesses. As if it could compensate for his over-emotional response, he pulled himself up to his full height, schooling his features into a mask of calm and mild scorn. "You wouldn't last five minutes alone," he said, trying to make it sound disdainful rather than worried. "We knew this would have to end eventually. Now go back to your dorm and get your things. We have to move now."

She didn't budge. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Severus realised she wasn't going to. Her eyes had narrowed, and there was a look of fierce determination on her round face. Her voice, when she spoke, shook with upset and barely pent-up rage. "Don't you _dare_ give me that rubbish, Severus Snape," she all but shouted, loudly enough that he flinched and moved to shush her even knowing that there was a Silencing Charm around them. She lowered her voice a little at that, but only a little, and it was no less vehement. "I thought we'd been through this! I thought we'd established that you can't just do things for _you_, or for _me_, or for anyone like that! Severus, _you are saving lives_! You're making a difference, a real difference, in the war, and I swear, if you throw that away because you don't think I'm up to looking after myself, I'll... I'll turn myself in to the Death Eaters and say it was you who forced me to."

Severus reeled back as if he'd been struck, snatching his hand away from her, his mind blank for a moment with the horror of that thought. "Merlin, Laura," he hissed, "you're supposed to be a _Ravenclaw_! How can you be so bloody _dense_, so... so... _Gryffindor_?"

"How can _you_?" She was corpse-pale, her jaw tight, her whole body trembling visibly, but she met his eyes without flinching. "You know I'm right, Severus. We're in a unique position here. Do you realise how unlikely it is that they'll ever be able to get another double agent? How much good you're doing? If you were leaving because you were scared, because you had to be safe, that I could understand, but for _me_?" With a horrible lurch, Severus saw the tears in her eyes, and understood the impossible fact that she _wanted_ him to go with her. "Severus, you can't. You mustn't. You have to find another way to get your messages through, and keep doing what you're doing. Anything else would just be... it would be about us, and this is bigger than us. This has always been bigger than us."

"Laura." He reached out to her, and she took his hand. "Laura, do you realise how much danger you're in? You're a child. You don't know what you're doing."

"I'm as old as you, numbskull." Her grip on his hand was painfully tight, and he could see her struggling not to break down and cry, but she gave him a shaky, sardonic little smile. "Promise me, okay? Promise you'll stay, that you'll try. You could use Evans as a go-between, everyone knows you still have a crush on her so nobody'll think it's strange if you talk to her. Just try. Please, Severus?"

He swallowed, and for once, he was the first to look away. "I promise," he muttered, pulling his hand away. "Now for Salazar's sake, go and get your things. Do you want me to come with you to your parents'?"

Laura chewed on her lip for a long moment before shaking her head. "Safer if you don't," she whispered. "Nobody needs to know you were involved. Just go back to bed, and try not to worry. Everything's going to be okay."

"I sincerely doubt that," Severus said, and meant it. He couldn't see any probable way this would end well. Most likely, he would be found out, she would be caught, and neither of them would survive to the end of the summer. With that in mind, though, she had a point. If it was all going to end horribly no matter what they did, if she was going to go and kill herself if he went with her – and, much as he didn't want to, he believed she would – then at least it would end with him trying to be a better man than his father.

Closing his eyes, he took a long, deep breath of the musty, earth-smelling air, then opened them and reached for her. The kiss was fierce and needy on both sides, as if by holding each other close enough they could make time stop and turn all this mess around, as if they could vanish into each other and be safe. He clung to her with a raw desperation he hadn't known was still in him, feeling her fingers clench in his hair and her tears smudge hotly against his cheek. At last, mastering himself, he summoned up the strength to pull away.

"The passage leads to Honeydukes. You can Apparate from there. Travel light, tell your parents to do the same, and don't stay in Paris too long. The Channel isn't going to be far enough if the Dark Lord decides to make an example of you – you have to keep moving." Surprised by his own tenderness, he brushed tears off her cheek with one acid-calloused thumb. She returned the gesture, and he started – he hadn't realised that he was crying too.

"I'll see you when all this is over, Severus," she said quietly, pulling away. "Look after yourself. Please. Don't get so caught up in pride you don't run away when it's time."

"Hurry up. You'll want to be away by dawn, in case anyone's watching the house." Severus looked away again, ashamed by his tears and the heavy fear in his chest, and didn't look back until he heard the passage entrance close behind her. Then, clutching his suitcase in one hand, he sank down against the cold stone wall. He couldn't leave too soon after her, he thought, in case someone saw. So he waited two and a half minutes precisely, counting off the seconds and forcing back his emotion, before getting up and creeping back to his own dorm.


	42. Nightfall

**A/N:** Sorry for the long break in updates. Exams and stuff, yaknow. But now a long, glorious summer stretches ahead, and hopefully I can start back up on regular-ish updates. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>It wasn't easy to explain. She'd tried to keep her parents out of the way of the war, downplaying it and glossing over the worst atrocities, so that they hardly knew there was anything more than a little tension in the wizarding world. So it wasn't surprising that when she showed up, dishevelled and exhausted, at three o'clock in the morning, her parents weren't in the best state to understand.<p>

She had Apparated to the front door of her house, and retrieved the spare key from the loose paving slab, all with her heart thudding in her throat and her worldly goods in a suitcase in one hand. It took her three tries to fit the key into the lock, her hands were shaking so badly. Still, she had the presence of mind to put the key back where she'd found it, and to flip the latch shut again when she was inside.

For a moment, she stood there in the middle of the hallway. It smelt of home; woodsmoke and old books, mixed with the fainter scents of wine and her father's cologne, and the bottle of lavendar oil she'd spilt on the carpet when she was ten. Laura stood in the hallway, in the dark, and realised this might be the last time she ever smelled that particular mixture of smells, the last time she might ever stand here. It was that, to her surprise, which finally brought tears to her eyes. Gulping back the salt in her throat, she put her suitcase down against the bookcase and started up the stairs. The light from her wand cast strange, fluid shadows, making everything starkly alien. Outside her parents' door, she stood still for a moment, wiping her eyes on her sleeves. Then she knocked.

She had to knock three times, and call her parents' names through the door in a harsh, hushed kind of shout, before light chinked through the hinge of the door and she heard the creak of floorboards. Then the door was swept open, and her father stood there, pale and ghastly in the wandlight, shadows picking out his hollow cheekbones and the mess of stubble on his jaw. His sleep-bleared eyes widened in surprise and confusion, and not a little fright.

"Laura?" He tossed the tennis racquet he was holding to one side, and reached out to her, his thin hands dropping onto her shoulders. "Laura, what is it, what's happened? You're not supposed to be back for another week. What's going on?"

She could feel the tears again, rising in her throat and threatening to choke her, but she remembered the breathing exercises Severus had taught her, and somehow held it back. Her voice barely even shook. "Dad, we need to go. All of us, now. You and Mum need to get dressed and packed, and we need to go." Then, when he only stared at her as if he thought all this might be a dream, "Now, Dad. _Please_."

"Go where?" Her mother appeared behind him, wrapping a dressing-gown around herself, her short salt-and-pepper hair in disarray. "In the middle of the night, out of the blue? What's going _on_?"

"I'll explain while you pack." Laura wiped her eyes surreptitiously, extinguishing her wand in favour of the brighter light spilling from their bedroom. "Please, Mum, Dad, just trust me on this. We're all in danger as long as we stay here. We can take the car, you must have enough money for the ferry... we can be in Paris by tomorrow, and we should be safe there." _Rowena, please let us be safe there_.

"Safe from what?" her mother demanded, stifling a yawn behind her hand. "Laura, really, you can't just turn up out of the blue and expect us to..."

But her father had been looking at her, his shrewd gaze hardly diminished by the clumps of sleep around his eyes, and now he turned to his wife, looking thoroughly defeated. It hurt Laura's chest to see him so shrunken and lost. "She said she'd explain while we pack, Helen. I'm going to go and pack."

"For how long?" There was a frantic note in Helen's voice; she looked between her husband and her daughter with unvarnished fear. "When can we come back?"

"I don't know." It was getting harder and harder for Laura to keep her voice steady. She didn't want to see her parents like this, vulnerable and frightened, as if she was the adult and they were the children. "Mum, please, I don't know. Maybe soon. Maybe never. But if we don't leave tonight, we're going to be dead."

This grim prophecy, delivered with a shaky hitch, stopped both Baineses in their tracks. For a long moment, silence stretched out, filling the gap between them, and Laura felt something fundamental break. Any security, however false, was gone. In that moment, she knew that they understood, that they would go with her. She also knew that she was never going to be their little girl again; she would never be protected. She was the protector, now, and it felt sour and sharp in her heart.

They left the house a bit less than an hour later, her father complaining as he loaded suitcases into the boot, her mother still silent and shocked. Laura herself no longer felt the need to cry. Something inside her had hardened into obsidian, blocking her tear ducts and walling in her grief. She wondered, briefly, whether this was what had happened to Severus. Maybe this was what growing up felt like, when you were doing it in a warzone.

"We should leave a note for Margaret and Rich," her father was saying, as he climbed into the driver's seat. "Someone needs to look after the plants, and I've got a dentist's appointment tomorrow. I should cancel that, I suppose. But what about the plumber? I spent weeks getting an appointment before we went away, and now it's all going to have been for nothing. I wonder whether..."

"Dad. Shh." Laura raised a finger to her lips, stopping halfway into the car. Had that been a voice she'd heard, or the wind, or the pop of an Apparation? Was she being paranoid? She didn't know, but she knew she didn't want to find out. "We have to go, right now."

"Are they coming?" Her mother's voice was small, in stark comparison to her husband's bluster. "The... Death Dealers or whatever it was you said?"

"I don't know." To her horror, Laura found that her own voice was getting sharp, her patience wearing thin. "It might be Death Eaters, it might be the Smiths from down the road, it might be a cat, but whatever it was, we need to _go_."

"But you're a witch." Her father was being excruciatingly slow, adjusting the seat and carefully fixing the mirrors. "Can't you just... magic them away?"

Laura had to resist the urge to say some words her parents might have been mildly shocked that she even knew. Her fists closing in her lap, she said through gritted teeth, "I'm eighteen, Dad. I'm eighteen and there's one of me and I haven't _slept_ in two days, so can we please just go before you have to see how much I can't magic them away?"

He sniffed disdainfully, firing up the engine and shifting the car into gear, but in the driver's mirror, Laura could see the hurt and fear in his eyes. He could try to mask it with the semblance of normality and ease all he wanted, but he couldn't hide his fear altogether, and she couldn't blame him. If only there'd been another way. If only Severus had told her sooner, so she could warn them... if only she'd thought further ahead and got them away. If only she'd never got caught up in all this mess to start with.

Wand at the ready, she watched with her forehead pressed against the window as they pulled out of the driveway and onto the quiet, terrifyingly normal glow of the streetlights. Over the quiet thrum of the engine, she could hear the thumping bass of loud music as they passed an open window, and somewhere, someone laughed. It seemed like another world. Inside the car, everything was silent. Her father's hands were clenched so tightly on the steering wheel that they'd gone glaringly white, his leathery skin stretched tight over the bones of his knuckles. Behind them, in the back seat, her mother sat with her hands knotted together in her lap, bolt upright, like a nun at prayer. Laura watched out of the window long after their house had fallen out of sight.

The explosion lit the sky just before dawn. By then, they were out of St Alban's, chugging down the main road, southbound. Even so, Laura saw the skull in the sky with impossible clarity, her mind's eye turning it from a green smear on the distant skyline to a death's-head. She could imagine the way its empty eyes would glare, the snake slipping tongue-like from its mouth to taste the smoke, the hideous grin looking down on their home that wasn't their home any more. Although no tears came to her eyes, she let out a single, choked sob.

Her father heard her. Looking soberly at her for a moment, he pulled over to the side of the road, his hands shaking as he pulled on the brakes. "Was that it?" he asked, his voice pitched low so as not to avoid waking her mother in the back, and Laura saw a horrible thing. He was crying. His eyes, rheumy and red-rimmed from exhaustion, brimmed with tears; his lower lip trembled. He wasn't young, but she'd never considered that until now; now he looked _old_, broken-down and despairing, and at the same time like a child who couldn't understand his own pain. "Is it gone?"

"It's gone." Laura was surprised by the hollowness of her own voice. Her fingers flexed on her wand, and she looked away, unable to keep eye contact with his hideously aged countenance. "They'll rip it apart looking for us, and then they'll burn it down. I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it." And still, she didn't cry, and that fact made her words feel horribly false, as if she were acting some part in a sub-par melodrama. She glanced back at her mother, who slumped against the window with her arms folded limply across her chest, and looked away from that as well. Somehow, bizarrely, it was easier to focus on that green smudge, barely visible above the lights of St. Alban's.

His hand rested for a moment on her shoulder, then drew away, as if he too had felt the changed relationship between them and didn't know how to touch her any more. She found herself shrinking away, ashamed; wanted to mutter an apology, but couldn't find the words. Instead, in a thick whisper, she said, "We should keep going. We have to get away."

"Right." He tapped his fingers in a brief tattoo on the rim of the steering wheel, swallowed audibly, cleared his throat. "Right. Okay." Then, as he slipped the car into gear and pulled slowly away from the curb, "How did they know where to find us, Laura? Why are they even after us? We're not exactly movers and shakers, are we?" Looking over at her: "...Are we?"

"It's complicated," Laura said quietly, still staring back at St. Alban's. "I'll... I'll explain when there's time. But it's my fault, really. And I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said gently, looking at her in the driver's mirror. His eyes were still glistening, his face drawn and pale. "It's okay, Laura. It's going to be okay."

"Of course." Finally, she managed to look straight at him, her eyes stinging. "We beat them to the punch. We got away."

_But for how long?_ she wondered silently, as they drove on into the dark. _How long until they come after us? How long until they catch Severus? How long until we're found?_

_Is this what it's going to be like from now on? Forever?_


	43. Into Adulthood

**43 - Into Adulthood**

It was amazing, and more than a little scary, how easy Severus found it to slip back into action with her gone. It only took a day or two for the aching horror at the back of his mind to settle into a dully nagging worry, and his poker face had always been remarkable. Of course, there was plenty to take his mind off it, not least the much more familiar fear for his own safety. He was hyper-vigilant, perpetually terrified of the day his scar would start to burn, and, worse, he was trapped. It made no difference that he'd trapped _himself_ – he was just as trapped regardless, and starting to see how naïve he'd been to think things could continue as normal.

It wasn't just that Laura's disappearance had raised suspicions and made it more likely than ever that they'd work out the connection between them. He was also coming to realise just how important it had been to have a go-between, somebody he could trust, somebody who they wouldn't be watching as closely as they were watching him. Laura had been the only person who could fill that role – the only person he trusted enough and who knew his secret – and with her gone, he was left floundering.

The only bright side was that they hadn't found any bodies in the ruins of her house, and none of the other bodies at the scene had fitted her description. That meant they'd got away. He hoped.

But there was nothing he could do now, anyway. At least, that was what he kept telling himself when he was alone at night and the fear and the frustration started to spill through his tightly-woven shields of stoicism. There was nothing he could do for Laura. He'd got her away, and that was all. He wished he'd been able to go with her, but he hadn't, and she'd got away.

He was angry at her, too. She'd blackmailed him into it, _again, _and for all her high-mindedness and talk of the greater good, he wished with every fibre in her body she'd been born with a Slytherin streak. If she weren't so bloody fixated on doing what was right, they could both have been safe now, going about their business and leaving Hogwarts by daylight to head into adulthood like everybody else. Severus had never really wanted to be like everybody else - "like everybody else" was another way of saying "unambitious and unremarkable" as far as he could see – but just now, he would have swapped all the power in the world for it. For normality... and for peace.

Three days after the Baineses' house burned to the ground, Severus stepped onto the Hogwarts Express with his battered trunk in his hand, and bade a rather less dramatic farewell to his own home. He didn't plan on being away for long – as soon as he could get a job there, he fully intended to – but there was still an unfamiliar twang of almost-grief as the train pulled away and the castle was lost from sight. Refusing to make a display of himself as some of his compatriots were by craning to see it fade, he settled back in his seat, shoulders hunched and face stony, and reached for his book.

"It's odd, isn't it?" Aliyah Mustafah, one of the few Slytherin girls who had ever paid Severus any notice before his rise through the ranks, looked over at him as the last crenellations of the school vanished behind the trees. "Thinking that we'll never be back here. Exciting."

Severus didn't even bother to look up from his book. He'd never liked Mustafah – a Slytherin who was willing to spend so much of her time reaching out to people like him was either stupid or planning something, and he didn't want anything to do with her either way – and he didn't appreciate the reminder of how _final_ all this was. "Hardly," he drawled, turning a page. "Everyone leaves some time. It's not as though anything's changed."

"Sure about that?" Lounging against the opposite window, Avery joined the conversation in a voice every bit as louche as his pose. "You're leaving an awful lot of things behind, aren't you, Severus? An awful lot of... people?"

"I was assuming you and the others would keep in touch," Severus said neutrally. Behind the book, his face was an unreadable mask. His thoughts, on the other hand, were acid enough to etch steel. _Trying to intimidate me, Avery? Get a rise out of me? Maybe you should have paid more attention. Maybe you should learn not to play me at my own game._ "We're friends, after all, aren't we?"

He didn't look up to see how Avery responded, but the fact that his old roommate lapsed into silence after that was vindication enough. Unfortunately, Mustafah wasn't so obliging, and kept on talking at him, apparently oblivious to his stony silence, until he got up and moved to the other end of the carriage.

There was nobody to meet him at the station. Frankly, that was a great relief. He wove his way through the frantic crowds, all but tasting the tension and relief and nervousness in the air, and ducked out of King's Cross into the grimy London air. It was raining, a light summer drizzle which was almost pleasant, and the air was still and hot. Hefting his bags, Severus headed towards Diagon Alley for all of five minutes before stopping. He couldn't have said what caught his attention – Avery should have been invisible among the bustling crowds of a London afternoon – but when he turned, there Avery was, looking completely unembarrassed.

If he was honest, that moment terrified Severus, made his heart lurch into his throat and stop beating for a moment. Luckily, he was very rarely honest.

"I think I saw your parents waiting back there," he said calmly. "Unless you've come to offer me a hand, in which case I'd certainly appreciate you holding this while I get my coat on."

Avery sneered, an expression which turned his usually-handsome face into one almost ugly enough to rival Severus' own. "You think you're being very clever, don't you, Snape?"

"I think I'm trying to walk down the street without being spied on." Severus took a couple of steps closer, out of the rain and the main flow of traffic. "Jasper, we've known each other for seven years. I'm pretty sure you know I'm capable of carrying bags from here to Diagon without running into anything I can't handle, so I can only conclude you're spying on me. Why?"

If he'd hoped for hesitation, for denial, he was disappointed. Avery looked him square in the face and said flatly, "Because I can't be sure you're not running off to your Mudblood whore."

Severus didn't splutter, or bluster, or protest his innocence. None of that was like him, and all of it would have raised more suspicion than it salved. Instead, he let his face fall into a contemptuous sneer of his own, tapping his calloused fingertip against the handle of his trunk. "You're embarrassing yourself, Avery. If you're sure enough to stalk me back to my flat, you should be sure enough to take it up with the Dark Lord. At least have the class to hire a footpad who can do his job." With a disdainful little nod, he turned on his heel, the effect spoiled somewhat by all the heavy bags he was carrying, and stalked away.

_And if you call my bluff_, he thought with a barely-suppressed shudder as he left Avery glaring at his back, _I'm dead_. His only hope at this point was that Avery was posturing as much as he was. But even if that was true, the fact that even one of his compatriots was so suspicious sent a shiver of frost down his spine. He'd be followed wherever he went now, he was sure, and he'd be amazed if any Floo or owls he sent weren't under surveillance, too. He was going to have a hell of a time getting messages out now, and yet he couldn't stop. If he stopped, they'd suspect it was working and pin it on him. There was more to it than that, too. Laura had opened his eyes to just how horrific the consequences of doing nothing were, and he hated her for it, but he couldn't close his eyes to it again. If he did, he'd be no better than his father. If he did, he might actually be _worse_.

Thinking dark thoughts, he turned off the street into the Leaky Cauldron, lugging his trunk after him with arms that were starting to ache from the weight. He'd exaggerated his living conditions a little to Avery; he didn't have a flat at all, since his budget just barely ran to the smallest room in the Cauldron. It was up two flights of stairs, and his head brushed the eaves when he dumped his bags by the bed and straightened up. He didn't care, although he was already sure he was going to catch his head a good crack at least once during his stay here. That didn't matter right now. A bruised forehead was small fry against agonising torture and death, which was weighing rather more urgently on his mind.

Settling down on the narrow bed with his hands dangling in his lap, Severus stared intently at a burn mark on the wooden floor and considered the stupidity of his own position. If he ever saw Laura again, he thought bitterly, he was going to hex her into next week for forcing him into this impossible situation. At least the worst Lily had ever done to him was embarrass him. Laura had killed him, and she'd done it in the slowest and most painful way possible.

_And you let her_. That was somehow the worst part. He'd been complicit in his own destruction, just like he had with Lily. It was starting to become a theme, he thought with bitter humour, digging his stained fingernails into the palms of his hands. He could blame Lily and Laura all he wanted, but neither of them was here to fight. There was only him. And he'd let her put him here.

Groaning, he ran his hand down over his face, his fingertips pressing hard into the sallow skin of his cheeks. He could cry about his own failings and her blackmail as long as he wanted, but that wouldn't deal with the problem in hand.

All right. What did he have? Fighting down the little voice which wanted to say _absolutely bugger all_, he took stock. No Floo, no owl that wouldn't be intercepted, no go-between. But he _did_ have his own not-inconsiderable intelligence, a room of his own above a well-populated bar, and all his books. It wasn't much – was, in fact, very close to bugger all – but it was the best he was going to get.

It was three and a half weeks before he was even remotely ready. Five weeks before he had information and enough certainty that it wasn't a trap. And six weeks after he moved into the attic room, the bony, uncommunicative youth who sometimes tended the bar when he was short on the rent leant over the counter, picked up a glass, and pressed a scrap of parchment into a customer's hand.

It wasn't much. But it was enough, for now.


	44. Heroes & Villains

**44 - Heroes & Villains**

Ralph Riddell was not an extraordinary man. He lived alone in a council flat just outside Croyden, picked up his pension from the Post Office every month, played jigsaw puzzles in the evenings, and occasionally, if he was feeling very daring, went to the quiz nights at the pub around the corner. He'd lived a solid, structured life since losing his left arm in the Blitz forty years before, and he had no plans to change that.

Had he known that the nice Afro-Caribbean couple in the next flat had a daughter at Hogwarts, he might have been more able to anticipate just how much his plans were about to be disrupted. Of course, first you would have had to make him understand what Hogwarts was and what it had to do with fifteen masked figures showing up to wreak havoc on the Salton Estate. And that in itself might have been a trial, because the explosion which had blasted off his arm all those years ago had taken most of his hearing with it.

As it was, the first warning he got was the flash of green lights outside his window, and then an explosion of glass from his front window. The force of it sent him scrambling backwards, terror showing clear on his wrinkled face in the strobing light of curses flying outside.

There was an old Enfield No.2 under his bed, where it had been quietly rusting since his brother had been killed in action. Sobbing quietly, his hand on the joint of his prosthetic, Ralph stumbled into the bedroom and fell to his knees. There was too much under there... old suitcases, boxes, his wife's vanity case... outside, he could hear explosions and screaming, or were they in his head? A young man again, crawling through the rubble of his old life, he fumbled to turn off his hearing aid with a plastic hand, failed, and let out a loud, choking sob.

His hand closed on the handle of the case just as the Death Eaters - out of sight and well beyond what he could pick out of the chaos – smashed open his door. It was hard to load the gun one-handed, harder still with his hand shaking so badly, and part of him still thought desperately of how useless it would be. You couldn't shoot down a plane with an Enfield pistol, you couldn't stop the bombs from breaking and entering, and if Gerry was up there again, firing down...

Outside, a man roared in pain, loud enough and close enough to send an agonising loop of feedback through Ralph's hearing aid. Fumbling the gun closed, half-loaded, he staggered to his feet. His heart was thumping painfully hard, his ribs constricting. "I'm warning you!" he called in a cracked, old-man voice, as he shuffled breathlessly towards the door. "I'm armed! I'll shoot!"

"It's okay!" The woman had to repeat it twice before he heard, and by then, she'd stepped into view, hands raised placatingly. She didn't have a gun, Ralph saw through a haze of pain and confusion, only a stick, too short and slender even to be a truncheon. "It's okay! We're on your side!"

"You've got to call..." Ralph said, and then his knees sagged. He looked more surprised than terrified now, but in his tearstained face, you could see the boy he'd been decades ago. "Chest. Feels..."

The woman was at his side just an instant too late, her long dark hair whipping around as she turned to yell through the broken window. "Frank! _Frank_!"

Ralph smiled, just a little, and the Enfield fell out of his hand. It didn't discharge; the firing pin had gone to rust, the barrel unoiled for decades. "Frank," he mumbled. There was a pain in his left arm, but that had been there for forty years, it didn't bother him any more. What was annoying was the pain in his chest. "Thought he died. Thought he died in 'forty..."

The darkness came up to meet him, and Ralph Riddell fell into it.

...*...

The Leaky Cauldron was all abuzz by the next evening. Officially, the reports hadn't come out, but the Cauldron was a meeting-place for all sorts of witches and wizards, and that included Ministry workers. Word got out, as it always did.

Severus sat down in his accustomed corner, picking at a rather greasy slab of belly pork, and listened. His face betrayed nothing; to a casual observer, he might just have looked like he was eating and idly flicking through a book. But he had keen ears, and he'd trained himself over the last few weeks to pick out what was importance. Actually, he was taking to this whole undercover business much better than he liked to think.

"...miracle, I'm telling you," a broadset black witch was saying, at the next table. "Only _four_. I mean, it's awful, but..." Something inaudible. Severus ducked his head and took a mouthful of slimy mashed potato, looking intently down at _Talles of Wisarding Feats_. Oblivious, the woman went on. "Well, I know it's terrible, but, Cordy, nobody died. Nobody! You weren't there, so I'm telling you, it was a miracle."

The woman she was sitting with, a sour-faced blonde of about thirty-five, raised a heavy eyebrow. "_I_ heard," she said, in the tones of a seasoned gossip, "that they're lying about that. _I_ heard that three Muggles died, and no arrests. Miracle? Outrage, I call it!"

"Bag of hot air, I call you!" the first witch retorted, pursing her lips. "And who was there, huh? Me. Not you. Me. Look, I'm telling you..."

Severus had had enough. He'd heard what he needed, and the heavy, greasy food was making his stomach turn. Dropping his plate off at the bar, he picked up his book and headed upstairs.

In his own cramped room, he put down the book, closed the door, and turned around... to look straight into the eyes of Gideon Prewett. He stifled a gasp, and replaced it with a glare, which was only made worse when Prewett responded with a totally unconcerned grin.

"What in Salazar's name are you doing here?" Severus hissed, when he'd taken a good look around and fixed up the wards on the door. "And _how_? I have Anti-Apparition Jinxes..."

Prewett tapped the side of his nose, waggling his eyebrows. "A true master never reveals his secrets. Thought you might want to know how the raid went last night."

Severus' lip curled. "And so you thought you would considerately break into my home." Again, with a quick glance at all the exits: "What are you playing at?"

"Fab owes me a Sickle. He thought you'd have tried to hex me."

"I still might." Severus' hand was on his wand, and his mind was racing. He wanted to snarl at Gideon that he was putting everything in jeopardy, that he couldn't afford risks like this – but what if it wasn't Gideon? Polyjuice wasn't an impossibility, nor was some form of illusion. If this wasn't Gideon at all, then he could destroy everything – including his chances of getting through this alive – by being too open. If it _was_ Gideon, then he could damage the Order's trust in him by being too closed-off, not to mention potentially missing out on important information. All this because the cocky idiot couldn't steer well clear and let things take their course. "Say whatever you came here to say, then get out of my room."

"Touchy, touchy." Gideon pulled a face, rolling his eyes. "I didn't even read your diary or anything to see whether you're double-crossing us too. Could've, but didn't."

Severus raised his wand – not high enough to be a direct threat, just enough to be seen – and glared more fiercely than ever at the older man. "I'm waiting."

"We took four Muggles to Mungo's. Obliviated the others. One old geezer had a heart attack on us, but we managed to get him out of there and to a hospital before he kicked it. Nobody made an arrest, but nobody died, either." Now Gideon's childishness was gone; he was serious for a moment, his eyes steady, and he looked much older than twenty-one. "Given the circumstances, I'd call that a win."

"Call it what you want," Severus drawled, "just do it somewhere that's not my room. I have work to do."

"You're the boss, Slimy." Gideon sketched a sarcastic salute, then turned away and wriggled gracelessly out of the open window. A split second later, Severus heard the tell-tale _crack_ of Disapparition.

Nobody dead. That was a start. Sitting down on the bed, Severus put his head in his hands. Nobody dead... but no progress, either. How were they supposed to win the war when he was working with this bunch of incompetents? They couldn't keep up like this, following the Death Eaters from raid to raid without making arrests or taking anyone down. Even if they _did_ somehow make a dent in the ranks, it wouldn't be nearly enough.

_Not your responsibility,_ he reminded himself, kicking off his shoes and staring down at his bony white hands. _You're doing your part. You're doing what she made you. You don't have to do anything more than that_.

But he was still thinking about it, weary and sick to the bone, when he put aside his job applications and went to bed two hours later. He was still thinking about it while he stared up at the ceiling and counted the cracks in the plaster. At last, still dwelling on the unwelcome subject, he drifted into sleep.

But before he did any of that, he closed, locked, and warded the window.


	45. Dead Inside

**45 - Dead Inside**

It was the beginning of August, and Severus felt tireder than he ever had in his life. He hadn't heard back from Hogwarts, and had resigned himself to _not_ hearing anything from them. In a strange, perverse way, he was glad. Teaching, being an academic, was all he'd wanted to do for years, but he just wasn't sure he had it in him any more. He felt thin, overstretched, bone-weary of the long days working and tramping the streets and filling out job applications, worn to nothing by the constant alertness. If he spent much longer looking over his shoulder, he'd never straighten his neck out again.

He kept his room over the Cauldron by the skin of his teeth, ekeing a living out of bar work and the part-time job he'd managed to scrape up stacking shelves at Wiseacres. It wasn't much, but it was independence of a sort. He ought to feel relief, freedom, _something_. Instead, too tired for emotion and too paranoid to show it, he felt nothing at all.

Even when the Dark Mark began to burn on his arm, he didn't even have the energy to be worried. He'd spent two months in a constant state of worry. There was only so much you could do. Making his excuses – something about a migraine – he ducked out from behind the bar and headed up the stairs. His mask and robes were tucked away, guarded by several charms, at the bottom of his trunk; moving robotically, he pulled them on, stepped out into the empty hall, and Disapparated.

The minute he appeared in the huge entrance hall of the Lestrange estate, he could feel that something had changed. It was hard to put a finger on. The mood at these meetings was always clandestine, always businesslike, always serious. But there was usually an undercurrent of something else, some sense of cameraderie, a jolly-old-boys-club feel that Severus had never enjoyed or been part of, but which had always, always been there. It was gone now. Despite his numb exhaustion, he felt a shiver of anxiety run down his spine.

They gathered in silence, following Bellatrix – unmasked, her hood down and her dark hair loose – into the reception room. The shiver became a full-blown spasm of fear, gripping Severus tight in the gut, when he saw who sat at the head of the table. The Dark Lord's presence at meetings of his followers was hardly unknown, but combined with the strange tension in the air, there was no way this could be good. Severus fought the primal urge to turn and bolt. Hoping he wasn't shaking too obviously, he strode as confidently as he could to the table with the rest of them, and sat down.

It was a small meeting. Behind the masks, it was hard to tell, but Severus imagined that the people around the table with him comprised Voldemort's inner circle. A year ago, he would have been overjoyed to be counted among them – but a year ago, being here wouldn't have made him feel like he was facing a firing squad. Whatever was going on here, it wasn't good.

The Dark Lord stood, and a deep hush fell. Was it Severus' imagination, or were those reddened eyes fixed on him? _Paranoia_, he told himself firmly. _The enemy of reason. Calm down, Severus. Breathe_. Folding his pale hands in his lap, he looked up from under the hem of his hood. No doubt the rest of his comrades – with the probable exception of Bellatrix – were frightened themselves. If there was one thing Severus had learnt, it was that everyone had something to hide.

"One of our number," the Dark Lord began, his voice deep and resonant in the high-ceilinged room, "has fallen. Augustus Rookwood was arrested last night."

The whispering began then, low mutterings of disbelief and anger. Severus saw nothing suspicious in holding himself above that. Despite himself, though, he felt a slight pang of regret. He hadn't been particularly fond of Rookwood, who was altogether too falsely jovial, but that didn't mean he wished Azkaban on him. And that was where Rookwood was bound, undoubtedly. Even with Voldemort's sympathisers on the Wizengamot, the evidence Severus himself had provided would see to that.

Voldemort raised a hand, and the whispers died to nothing instantly. All eyes turned back to their lord.

"Rookwood was careful." Now Severus was sure of it; the Dark Lord was looking at him. "I saw to it. He was a valuable resource, and they should have had no reason to suspect." Another, deeper hush fell. Severus couldn't see his companions' faces, but he didn't have to. He knew what they were feeling – the doubt, the tension, the understanding of just how deeply awry things had gone. He swallowed, hard, as Voldemort allowed the room to settle before making the final, damning pronouncement.

"Brothers. Sisters. We have been betrayed."

Severus kept himself steady, with an effort, and looked around at the table, as if to try and seek out the guilty party. It took him a moment – a horrific, slow-motion moment – to realise that every eye in the room was turning to him.

He closed his eyes. Maybe, he thought, maybe this was all a nightmare. Maybe when he opened his eyes, it would all be over. _And maybe_, a voice in his head said snidely, _if you don't look at him when he casts Avada Kedavra, it won't kill you_.

But it couldn't end like this. Not like this! He'd known, deep in his heart, that he couldn't keep up the deception forever, but somehow, despite his better judgement... somehow, he'd never believed this day would come. And now it was here. He was going to die here, quickly if he was lucky, but more likely slowly and painfully. Worse, he was going to die without anyone even knowing what he'd done. So much for fame and fortune. Say goodbye to power.

Still, he managed to keep the quaver out of his voice. If he had to die today, at least he was going to go with some dignity. "My Lord? Are you suggesting...?"

Then the worst thing happened, worse than he could have imagined. The Dark Lord smiled.

"Suggesting? Not for a moment. I _know_, Severus. I've known for some time."

_Well, that's a lie,_ Severus thought, despite himself. _If you'd known for some time, I wouldn't be here, would I?_ But even if death was knocking down his door, he still had more self-preservation instinct than to say that. Instead, choking down his fear, he wet his lips and said hoarsely, "My Lord, I have always been loyal. I have served you well. Please..."

"Stop snivelling." The Dark Lord's smile hadn't faded. There was even a glimmer of teeth under it. Severus felt sweat bead on the back of his neck, soaking into his heavy robes – and yet, even so, his hackles rose. Snivelling? After all he's been through, _snivelling_?

But the Dark Lord wasn't finished. "I'm not going to kill you. Not yet." Leaning forwards across the table, he met Severus' eyes through the mask. "Go back to your precious Aurors. You're going to carry a message for me. And when you've told them what I need you to, well... we'll see."

Relief rushed through Severus' veins like a narcotic. He wasn't stupid enough to think this was going to let him off the hook – the Dark Lord might try to make him believe it would, but in Voldemort's position, nobody with any sense would let a traitor live – but it might give him a chance, however slim. If he went to ground... if he got protection from the Aurors... then he might live.

_But at what cost_? If he lived, he would live and die a coward, turning his back on the one good thing he had ever done. If he lived, it would be scraping from hiding place to hiding place, chase to chase, while the destruction and pain continued unchecked. If he lived, it would all have been for nothing. If he lived at all.

It was funny, it occurred to him with banal clarity, that a moment ago he had been thinking about dying with dignity, and now he would take even this false freedom, crawling on his belly like a worm. _Like a snake_, said his Slytherin side, but no. Like a worm. Worthless.

It was that, more than anything, that made up his mind. It was suicide. It was hopeless. But it was all he had left.

"My Lord," he said, in a shaky murmur.

"How dare you?" Bellatrix surged to her feet, her silver eyes flashing. "How dare you even _think_ of addressing Him, you filth, you Mudblood traitor filth, you..."

"Bella." The Dark Lord raised a wax-pale finger to her lips, and gestured for her to sit. His eyes glittered with a dark amusement. "Let's hear what our bold little traitor has to say."

"Read me." Severus' voice sounded thin, reedy, to his own ears. He stood up, aware of the wands trained on him, glad that they couldn't see him shaking. "Veritaserum, Legilimancy, anything... My Lord, kill me if you will, but first, please. Learn the truth. Know that I live and die in your service."

There was a sussurus, a rash of whispers that started low and rose to a crescendo. Bellatrix, standing by her master, looked apopleptic with rage at the very suggestion – but Severus thought, or maybe just hoped, that he could hear an edge of uncertainty in some of the whispers. Good. Let them doubt. Let his last act be seeding discord in the ranks. It was better than nothing.

It would have been good to say that he wasn't frightened any more, that the decision had solidified his resolve, that he was ready to face the death he knew was coming. Unfortunately, his ability to lie only stretched so far. He had never been so terrified in his life.

"Please," he repeated, his voice almost lost in the hubbub, and reached up to remove his mask. They would see his fear, but perhaps that was for the best. Let them see him. Let them remember him as a boy who'd been to school with them or their children, who'd fought alongside them, who'd gone to the end protesting his innocence. Let them remember that. It made him sick to think he was going to leave looking so human and so vulnerable, but right now that human vulnerability was all he had. Meeting the Dark Lord's eyes as best he could, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and rolled it across the table, out of reach. "That's all I ask."

There was no doubt in the Dark Lord's expression, but the smile had faded. Whatever he had expected, this hadn't been it. That wasn't surprising – even Severus couldn't believe his audacity. Not courage. It couldn't be called courage. Stupidity, maybe. _Merlin, Severus, you're turning into a Gryffindor_.

The silence stretched out, long, agonising, while Severus stood there with his face bare and his chest heaving, waiting. Even the whispering had died away. Everything was still.

_Just kill me_, Severus begged mentally. _Kill me and get it over with._

Then he felt the probing fingers of the Dark Lord's mind. It took him so much by surprise that he let down any barriers he'd had in place – the last thing he'd expected, the last thing he _could _have expected, was for the Dark Lord to call his bluff. Memories flashed into the forefront of his mind, and into Voldemort's; Lily's face, caught in a moment of surprised laughter, and Spinner's End in the rain, and the thud-thud-thud his father had made falling down the stairs, and the moonfaced horror of his mother, and Potter and his friends laughing, laughing, laughing...

And then those precious milliseconds of jumbled memories were gone, and the Dark Lord was inside his head.


	46. Small Mercies

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. I'm afraid the slow updates are going to continue, because I have exams right up to Christmas, plus I'm a dumbass who is going to end up doing NaNo as well. So probably nothing more until Christmas at the earliest, I'm afraid. :(  
>Hope this tides you over!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>46 - Small Mercies<strong>

He walked upstairs, numb and shaking. With great deliberation, he undressed, changed into his pyjamas, and tucked his mask and robes away neatly into the Disillusioned space under his bed. The streetlights outside cast strange, long shadows; getting up with a little sigh, he closed the curtains, lit his wand, and climbed into bed. There was a book on the bedside table, a heavy volume on the history of dark magic, but he didn't pick it up. After everything that had just happened, not even he was going to be able to concentrate.

That had been too close. That had been a split-second, a wrong word, away from green light and Severus dead on the floor. He was still sweating, clammy and cold despite the too-warm room, and the hairs on his arms felt as if they were still prickling.

_Too close_, he told himself silently, _but still all right_. Severus was alive. The Dark Lord had looked into his mind, and what he had found didn't matter. What mattered was that Severus was alive. Severus was still in the game. And that was good, because without Severus, Regulus Black wasn't at all sure the game could still be won.

...*...

When Severus got back to his own flat, the grotty little tenement now filled with books and potion ingredients, he just about managed to lock the doors and strengthen the wards before the hysteria that had been bubbling up inside him boiled out to the surface. Then he burst out laughing. It was the kind of laugh that only comes when the alternative is sobbing; he choked on it, doubling up against the desk, and laughed and laughed and laughed until tears came to his eyes.

He was _alive_. Against all odds, he was _alive_. Not writhing under the Cruciatus, not lying cold and still in the Lestranges' ballroom, not even fleeing back to Dumbledore with his tail between his legs. He had looked the Dark Lord in the eyes, he had lied directly to the most powerful Legilimens in the country, and _he had won_. Not only that, but in the give-or-take barrage of one mind against another, while he was focusing on building up the lines of his innocence, he had seen things about the Dark Lord's own memories that he'd never known, even more than he'd guessed. He didn't know what to make of those flashes of Voldemort's self – besides that they had made his skin crawl and his hair stand on end – but he had seen them. He could consider them later. Because there was a later. Because he had fooled the Dark Lord. Because he was alive.

But that wasn't why he was still laughing while his breath hitched and his pale face reddened and tears ran down his cheeks. He had proved his innocence. He had seen into the Dark Lord's mind. He knew more than almost anyone in Britain did about both sides, had just about enough knowledge to bring half of Voldemort's following to its knees. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do with it.

Voldemort himself might be convinced. _Might _be. The fact that he'd let Severus walk away was an encouraging sign, but Severus wasn't about to rule out the possibility that it was a trap. It wasn't as though the Dark Lord would broadcast his plans that way. And even if he _was_ convinced, Severus didn't need Legilimency to know that the danger was greater than ever. He didn't even need to be able to see people's faces, or hear them speak. Some of his compatriots might have been swayed by his display, but Bellatrix? Avery? There were others, too, maybe even most of them, who had been waiting for something like this. He was under no illusions about how many people trusted him, or about how many people resented the encroachment of a poverty-stricken halfblood teenager into the Dark Lord's inner circle. Even if the Dark Lord's suspicion melted away like the snow, one wrong step – not just from him, but from _anyone_ – would be enough to get him killed or worse.

Had he thought he was walking a knife edge before? Had he really? Now _that_ was funny. He'd thought he couldn't take any more of the stress, of the watchfulness, of the constant not-knowing... but all along, that had just been the prelude. _Now it really starts_, he thought, and as if that had brought him out of his trance, he realised that the laughter had turned into sobbing after all.

_At least they don't know where the important people are_, he thought blackly, as he finally got himself under control enough to stumble into bed. His whole body felt numb and limp, as if he'd been running a marathon... and yet it was still trembling, the hairs along the line of his arm prickling every so often as if at a phantom touch. He screwed his eyes closed, trying to bring himself back under control, trying not to notice the hot tears slithering across his cheeks and dripping onto his ears. _They don't know where Lily is. They don't know where Laura is. They can't know what I don't know._

_Tomorrow, it starts again. Tomorrow, you have to build everything back up. You need to be rested. Try to sleep, Severus. Forget all this mess and try to sleep. Even if sleep never..._

It was only the light streaming in through the dingy window, shining through his eyelids, that alerted him to the time lapse. It was almost midday. Somehow, impossibly, he had slept through the night, slipped away without even noticing. Just as implausibly, and rather more annoyingly, those twelve or so hours of sleep had left him feeling less rested than before. His eyes felt swollen and sore, his skin claggy with dried sweat, and he could smell himself even above the ever-present smell of the rising damp. Rolling over, his whole body protesting and aching dully for more rest, Severus sat up with his hands over his eyes.

Part of him wanted to write off the day before as a terrible nightmare. That was the easy thing, the only way that might let him rest. He was doomed anyway, so why dwell on it? Let it happen.

But that part of him wasn't a part he'd ever allowed to gain much traction. If he listened to that part of himself, he'd let his guard down, and even if that meant he died today instead of tomorrow, that couldn't be allowed. One day, one hour, one _second_ longer of not being caught, that was better than nothing. There was a steel somewhere in him, the same Slytherin strength that had led him to join the Death Eaters in the first place, which wasn't about to give up without a fight. If he had to claw his way back to power one second at a time, he'd do it. If that was what he had to do to get through this war, he'd do it. If that was his only chance of getting through this, of getting back to a place where all he had to worry about was men like Potter and their stupid little cruelties, death was a small price to pay.

_If that's what I have to do for her to be safe_ drifted into his mind like a wisp of smoke, and he waved it away. Lily... Laura... even he wasn't sure who he'd meant. But what he did know was that he couldn't afford to worry about either of them. Just like he always had, he had to look out for number one.

Rubbing his eyes, he splashed water on his face. For the first time, he regretted his lack of a mirror; he could feel the dried salt on his cheeks, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to think he was the kind of person who cried in bed at night. He had more pride than that, even now. Especially now. Right now, he was starting to think maybe that pride was all he had.

He was going to have to do something about this, he thought as he dragged on his robes and finger-combed his lank hair. Not just about re-establishing himself as trustworthy with the Death Eaters – which he had a nasty premonition was going to involve doing more than a few things which would make his other allies trust him a lot less – but about Dumbledore, too. He wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have some idea what was going on, but he certainly wasn't going to put his life in the old man's hands. The wrong person mentioning his name, or showing up at his flat, and he was a dead man. Somehow, he was going to have to get a message to Hogwarts, but how? The Floo networks were undoubtedly being watched, and he'd give an owl better odds of getting unharmed through an entire aerial bombardment than of getting to Hogwarts without being intercepted. The Prewetts? He didn't know where to find them, and didn't trust them anyway. A visit in person? Why not just put up a huge beacon saying I AM DEFINITELY A TRAITOR?

Raking his hands unconsciously back through his hair, he groaned quietly and headed out of his flat. Downstairs, the Leaky Cauldron was already full of customers, either passing through to or from Diagon Alley or just stopping for lunch. Severus ignored them, heading up to the bar. "Tom."

"Severus!" Wiping his hands on a rag, the landlord turned to face him, with a smile that looked about as genuine and friendly as the grinning skull mask in Severus' trunk. "Long night, was it?"

Small talk was never Severus' strong point, and this morning of all times, he really didn't feel up to it. He ignored the question, folding his hands behind his back and trying to look past Tom at the rota he knew was pinned up on one of the pillars. "Are you short a shift this evening? Or tomorrow."

Tom's smile vanished. "If you can't make the rent, just say so," he grumbled, leaning down to dig around under the bar.

"I can't make the rent," Severus said, managing to make it sound both snide and obliging. "Not by tomorrow night. Happy?"

"No." Tom sniffed, straightening up and pushing a sheaf of letters across the bar. "You've made yourself pretty at home up there, hey? Keeping the other tenants up at night with your lights on, slamming about at all hours, warding the windows so I have to get your mail in for you... bloody teenagers, for Helga's sake..."

"I'll keep the noise down, then. Stop the wild parties and bacchanalia. Shift. Yes or no?" Getting snappy wasn't going to do him any favours, Severus knew that, but with his life in constant danger and yet another pile of job rejections to shuffle through, it was remarkably difficult to care.

"Six till two tonight." Tom was already turning his back, heading down the bar to deal with a customer. "I'll take it off the rent."

Severus bit back the retort that rose to his lips. No point making it worse. He needed the room. Things were bad enough, without being out on the street and unprotected at a time like this. Instead, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides once, he scooped the letters up, straightened them against the bar, and went to sit in the corner.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was scrubbing tables and pulling pints just to keep a roof over his head, it wasn't fair that he couldn't get a job that used his not-inconsiderable talents and education, it wasn't fair that he was still running in place, had been running in place all his life, while people around him (_people like Potter_, whispered a snide voice at the back of his mind) rose to the top without even trying. It wasn't fair that trying to do the right thing was going to get him killed. It wasn't fair that saving people had already got Laura's house destroyed and her family run into hiding. It wasn't fair that he was going to die over some stupid Gryffindor streak she'd brought out in him, while his damn father could somehow survive being Stunned at close range and pushed down a steep flight of stairs.

It wasn't fair. But even though the unfairness of it brought a tightness to his chest and a burning anger to the back of his mind, he wasn't a child, and he knew better than that. Life wasn't fair. All the miracles in the world were for the people who started out well – the sporty ones, the rich ones, the pureblood ones with a charmed life – and that didn't leave any for anybody else.

And then he reached the letter at the bottom of the pile, broke the Hogwarts-crest seal, and read the first line, and something flip-flopped in his chest. _Thank you for your application. On behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I would like to inform you that you are under consideration for an open faculty place. Please owl as soon as possible to confirm whether you can attend an interview at the school, at 10:30 AM on..._

He stopped reading then, and had to cover his mouth with one hand to prevent another outburst of that ridiculous, hysterical laughter.

Maybe there weren't meant to be miracles for people like him. But maybe sometimes, Fate messed that one up.


	47. Black Ink, White Paper

**47 - Black Ink, White Paper**

Hogsmeade was quiet, unnervingly so. Since the attack months ago, things had only got tenser, and now very few of its residents still went out after sunset. Severus walked out of the train station, past boarded windows and burnt-out shells of houses, and reflected on how quickly the time had gone by. Had it really only been two months since he'd left? Had he really been a schoolboy that recently? He felt so much older, and so much wearier, and the Dark Lord's memories still echoed unpleasantly in his mind. So much like him. Tom Riddle had been so much like him.

His bootheels clicked on the cobbles as he headed to the Three Broomsticks. A light breeze caught at his lank hair, whispered something without words, and passed on. It was a warm evening, and the stars were bright. The moon was full, and for a moment, he glanced uneasily at the Shrieking Shack, a dim shadow in the lamplight. But nothing moved there. Lupin was long gone.

The warmth and noise of the pub hit him like a smack in the face as soon as he walked in. Unlike the Leaky Cauldron, which had become a place of shadows and whispers, this was almost aggressively welcoming. Severus saw it for what it was – a shield. A little _Protego_ of firelight and forced smiles, erected against the gathering dark. He couldn't find it in him to smile – only to wish that he could. Light had never been his friend.

Still, it was pleasant to be there, somewhere with expenses paid and plenty of wards already in place. It was surprisingly touching to be greeted at the bar, not with surly demands for rent and Tom's scowl, but with Rosmerta's smile and a glass of Butterbeer "on the house". Even knowing that it was her job, and that the Butterbeer wasn't on the house but on Hogwarts expenses, didn't entirely kill the savour of having somebody act, for the first time since this whole mess had kicked off, like he was wanted.

He couldn't allow himself to dwell on that. It was from seeds like that which complacency grew, and if he had ever been able to afford that luxury, he certainly couldn't now. Worse, since the elation had passed, he had started to wonder if this might not be another snare for him. Dumbledore had always seemed to know everything – surely, by now, he must know that something had happened to Severus. And yet, Severus was still alive, and had responded to the interview request – on maybe even designed for that purpose. In the Headmaster's place, Severus himself would have been suspicious. He had to play his cards carefully. Too eager, and it would only be more suspicious. Too slow, and Dumbledore might not hear him at all. Too loudly would risk being overheard; too quietly would risk being seen as overcautious. Showing up for the interview at all might have been a mistake, but he could hardly avoid it.

And that was assuming it was Dumbledore behind this at all. He had to watch his tongue, and guard well. He didn't think they could Imperius Dumbledore, or that they would dare to Polyjuice as him, but even if he could trust the other staff, could he trust them to be themselves if they were the ones sent to interview him? He would have to be circumspect. He would have to be certain. He would have to be clear.

He sat sipping his Butterbeer and staring out at the pools of firelight, and wished with all his heart that this string of miracles had never come his way. No Lily. No Laura. No Death Eater acceptance. No Hogwarts interview. It would have been easier to live the life he had dreaded since infancy; a Muggle life, a meaningless life, drudging his way from school to apprenticeship to factory line, keeping his head down and his mouth shut. Maybe, at some point, Tobias Snape would have met with an unfortunate accident. Maybe he would have left Spinner's End, gone to Newcastle or Liverpool or London. Lived his own life. Been his own man. Survived.

_And maybe not_. He shook the thought off, looking down at the cooling foam of his Butterbeer. He'd known for a long, long time that he would never be a hero. Heroes weren't surly and sarcastic and sallow; heroes didn't have huge noses and lank black hair and ribs that showed under their robes. Heroes were confident, handsome, bluff and Gryffindor. James Potter would be a hero. He would never be James Potter.

But he would never be Tobias Snape, either, and somewhere in his heart, he knew that was where the other path would have led him. Tobias, or worse. At least this way, when he inevitably failed and died horribly, he would be dying _for_ something.

It wasn't, all things considered, a huge consolation prize.

He turned in early that night, enjoying the unexpected luxury of a double bed and a large room. But although the bed was soft, warm, and sinfully comfortable, he tossed and turned until morning, when he got up late and grumpy with dark shadows deep under his eyes. He made a brief, fruitless attempt to spruce himself up, settled for splashing his face with water and dragging his hair back into a ponytail which made his face look even more hawk-like, and headed downstairs just in time to catch Professor McGonagall as she came in.

"Mr. Snape," she said, the voice as clipped and cool as ever. "I do hope this isn't symptomatic of your usual rising hour. We expect our professors present at breakfast, after all."

_You taught me for seven years, woman, you know I've never been late to a class in my life_. But this was an interview, not a good time to let his tongue get as sharp as it tended to. Severus forced a smile, bit back the bitterness, and shook his head, keeping his voice steady as he replied, "Not at all. I was tired from the journey, that's all, and I got in very late last night. I was rather expecting the Headmaster, but it's good to see you, Professor."

"You always were a terrible liar, Mr. Snape. Professor Dumbledore was indisposed." McGonagall looked profoundly unimpressed, and Severus could have kicked himself. He had mentally prepared for this interview a thousand times over, for any professor they might send him, but all his careful planning had been swamped by more pressing concerns about not dying. In all his anxiety about today, since getting the letter, he hadn't once considered how he was actually going to get the job.

"Well, then." Severus cleared his throat, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. His carefully schooled smile was faltering. "I take it we're not conducting this interview in the front room."

"You take it correctly." Hanging up her hat, McGonagall patted her hair into even stricter neatness, and swept past him towards the stairs. "Follow me, Mr. Snape."

Feeling eleven years old again, and less than fond of the feeling, Severus did as he was told. The room she led him into was small, about the size of his tenement at the Cauldron, but cosily decorated with a heatless fire crackling prettily in the grate. McGonagall took a seat in one of the squishy armchairs in front of the hearth, gesturing for him to sit into the other, and closed the door with a flick of her wand. Warded it, too? Severus thought so, but he couldn't be sure. Not sure enough to risk his life on, anyway.

If she knew about his role in the war, she said nothing about it. In every way, shape and form, it was exactly like any other job interview. She met his eyes, spoke curtly and briskly as she always did, and asked nothing out of the ordinary. What had he been doing since graduating? (_Killing myself slowly_, he thought; _working a night shift and applying for jobs, _he said) Did he think he could deal with the pressure of teaching at such a young age? (He had to stifle a laugh at that question as he answered; after what he'd been dealing with lately, he didn't think a squalling class of preteens held much terror) Had he been keeping up his studies, what would he do if this or that or the other, why did he want to work at Hogwarts?

That was the last question, and the only one he had real trouble with. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and stared at the fire for a moment. Why? There were so many reasons, and none of them seemed like they would get her approval, or like they would do anything to make her forget how young he was. At last, with uncharacteristic sincerity, he settled on the greatest of them.

"It's home," he said, quieter than he'd intended. "Hogwarts, I mean. What I am, I was made there. And I want to go back. I want to be part of somebody else's home."

He sensed rather than saw McGonagall's eyes on him. The intensity of her gaze hadn't increased, but it had shifted, as though what he'd said had been a surprise to her. Suddenly, she seemed to be regarding him in a much less hostile light. It was probably his imagination, though.

"Thank you, Mr. Snape," she said at last, and got to her feet to shake his hand. "You ought to hear from us in a week or so. I'm afraid it will be short notice. You understand."

"Of course." Whatever had been in her face before, it had gone again, back under the mask of professionalism. Severus shook her hand firmly, nodding to her, and turned to go. "Thank you, Professor. And, if you would, could you tell the Headmaster that I'm grateful that the opportunity was still open. I'm finding myself on shaky ground at the moment." _Please let that be clear enough_. _Please let her tell him_. But he didn't dare be more open. Not here. Not with her.

"Severus," she called, as he reached for the door handle.

He turned his head, blinking. It was the first time she had called him by his first name in the interview. In fact, he wasn't sure, but it might have been the first time she'd ever addressed him by it. Her voice was no different, her face as unreadable as ever, but that was strange. "Yes, Professor?"

She crossed the room in a few paces, her thin hand coming down on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. For a moment, she met his eyes, and if there was any deceit in that gaze, he couldn't find it. Now her voice changed, lowering, softening a little. "You're the most promising candidate we've had so far. It would be... I for one would consider it a great loss if you couldn't take it up. You're too young for this. But you're too young for a lot of things." The significance of her words wasn't lost on him. But she didn't elaborate, just lowered her hand and stepped back, holding out a creased envelope. "The Headmaster asked me to give you this. I would be careful who sees you with it, though."

Severus took it without thinking, and would have left without a word, if he hadn't caught sight of the handwriting on the back. It wasn't what they said – there was only so much to be read into the fact that the letter was addressed to Professor Dumbledore – but the handwriting itself.

"...Laura?" It was almost a whisper. It should have been quieter. If this was a trap...

"I'm quite sure I don't know," McGonagall said primly, "as I don't make a habit of prying into other people's affairs. But the Headmaster seemed quite adamant you should have it." Then, softening a little, "She sent it through seven or eight different contacts. I doubt it's traceable. She's not foolish, that girl."

"Thank you." It had been a long time since Severus had said that and meant it quite so much. He tried to disguise it, to keep himself ambiguous, but he didn't think it was working. Clearing his throat, he pulled himself to his full height and tried again. "Thank you very much, Professor. I hope to hear from you soon."

She nodded, opening the door for him. "Good day, Mr. Snape. I hope your journey back to London isn't too arduous."

Dumbly, Severus nodded, just about managing to keep his composure out of the door, up the stairs, and to his room. It was only while he was doubling up the wards and scanning for scrying spells that he realised his hands were shaking. It made it difficult to open the envelope, and unfold the single sheet of paper inside it. For a moment, he just stared at it, not even reading. It was paper, not parchment, and written in ballpoint pen. If it was a facsimile, it was an incredibly good one. It even smelled a little of her, that smell of char and herbs he had come to associate with their evenings in the dungeon, with a bitter backing to it.

His eyes burned, but he refused to let them water. He wasn't a dewy-eyed teenager, and he wasn't going to weep and wail over a letter, especially not one he hadn't even read yet.

But it was hers. She'd written it. And that meant she was alive – or, at least, had been alive three weeks ago, when this letter was dated. Wondering at just how deep his relief ran, he ran one hand over the lightly indented paper, flattening it out, and began to read.

_Dear Headmaster,_

_I am writing to express my appreciation for the kindness and help extended to me at Hogwarts, and for the education I gained there. I had hoped to tell you this in person before I left at the end of the year, but my family emergency prevented that, so hopefully this is sufficient._

_I have made many friends at Hogwarts, both professors and students, and I was very sad to find that I didn't have the proper chance to say goodbye. If you could pass on my good wishes to them, I would be very grateful indeed. I've lost touch with them a bit. I was particularly hoping you could keep an eye on Professor Slughorn for me – I'm afraid I think the war may be taking its toll on him. Particularly with the loss of his best pupil._

_At the same time, I have something I wanted to say to you: I have not forgiven you for last year. What happened to precipitate my leaving was unacceptable, and we both behaved badly, but you should have known better. In seventh year, we are still children. I know that now. I wish I didn't. But you treated us like adults, and I don't know if that's something I can ever forgive, even knowing why you did it._

_Still, I'm grateful. For the courage you taught me, and the bitterness as well, and for all the lessons Hogwarts gave me. I need them now, as we all may._

_Hogwarts is, and always will be, home to me. And one day, I hope I shall return. Until then,_

_L.B._

Severus read the letter again, and then again. At last, deliberately, he folded it up, tucked it into its envelope, and burned it. The tears burning at his eyes he could excuse with the smoke, at least. He had no such excuse for the sad little smile tugging at his mouth.

He'd taught her well. He hadn't meant to teach her, but he'd done it anyway. Writing to him through Dumbledore, couching everything she said in such carefully ambiguous terms, even the way she'd sent the owls... Laura Baines was more Slytherin with everything he heard from her, more of a spy. She was learning dishonesty, and bitterness, and cruelty.

He just hoped she was learning them fast enough.


End file.
